Perfect After All: Price of the Past
by Jaya Mitai
Summary: Animeverse ONLY. Spoilers through CoS. Edward and Alphonse track a young man on the same path they once followed, and when war looms nearer for Amestris, PM Mustang learns what it costs to be on top. Chapter 43 up, and at long last, the story is complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Don't own Full Metal Alchemist. Making no money. Please don't sue. See Author's Notes at the end of the chapter. Anime-based ONLY. Spoilers through Conqueror of Shamballa.

This is the third and final story in this arc, a sequel to my never-ending one-shot Perfect After All, and its spawn Perfect After All: The Fusing Alchemist. It could possibly stand alone, but I would recommend you read Perfect After All first, if not both of them.

- x -

**Two Years Ago**

The stillness was unnatural.

He couldn't help but notice it. After the sky had darkened with the woodland birds, there was nothing left to make noise. No squirrels, bickering animatedly at each other as they fought over seeds. It was too early for the crickets to begin serenading their lovers, but the absence of the chittering, shade-loving beetles was almost painful, like a low-grade headache. It wasn't something you noticed at first, but once you had, there was no ignoring it.

There was not a breath of wind under the canopy, and while the heat of the late spring was only just enough to make running a sweaty affair, the silence made it seem oppressive and humid.

Something had scared everything away. Everything with sense.

Everything but them.

Then again, momma said they didn't have the sense given a dung-bug, but that was just because of Finn. Finn and his preoccupation with naked women.

Arei glanced at his next-door neighbor, forgoing apprehension for flat-out dissent. "This ain't right, Finn."

The older boy was still, shoulder against an ancient pine and eyes up. He had his head cocked, as if listening to something, but Arei was pretty sure that was just for show.

"They'd have to be powerful ugly folk to scare off the birds," he tried again, barely about a whisper. Naked or not, he didn't think a body, or even a dozen, were capable of causing that mass flight.

Finn waved a hand in his general direction, letting it flap uselessly at the end of his wrist. "Shh. I hear something."

The hell he did. He'd been hearing 'chants from their weird rituals' for the last two miles, supposedly, and 'smellin' smoke from the bonfires.' The only thing Arei could smell was the damp green ferns and the soft black earth. No smoke, no chants, and most noticeably, no naked women.

Or men. There'd been some men in the group that had headed out. He wasn't looking much forward to seeing _that_.

"You don't hear nothing," he scoffed, but he stayed crouched behind the yew anyway.

There wasn't any doubt; _something_ had frightened the wildlife. And whatever it had been wasn't a loud noise. They hadn't heard anything. Hadn't seen anything.

Finn flapped the hand more emphatically at him. "Hear it? Crashin' through the brush like that?"

Admittedly, he was surrounded by thick brush, so he really wouldn't have heard anything even if a herd of deer were headed their way. Which wasn't unlikely; their wood had its share of large creatures, and it seemed as if something that would scare away so many birds and squirrels would spook the larger animals as well.

Cautiously, Arei poked his head above the brush, scanning the thick trunks and undergrowth. At first that just made the quiet all the more stifling, but after a moment, he was quite sure that he heard _something._ It wasn't a herd of deer, either; it was missing that low rumble that came from sheer heaviness. This was something large, but something light . . . something that pounded but didn't have the right weight. Whatever it was, they could hear that the woods were trying to hold it back.

And it was coming closer.

Finn remained just where he was, eyes intent on the north-east. Probably he wasn't sure that was where it was coming from, but that was just Finn's way.

Momma was right. He didn't have the sense given a dung-bug. The thing was weaving wildly, not traveling in a straight line.

But it was still heading for them.

Arei flinched back a step as another thought hit him.

Or it was heading for the village.

Anything with a nose and ears could find that. They were celebrating the coming summer solstice in their own way, with clothes and food and fireworks. He could smell the sausages on the many grills, and while his other bits had been more attracted to the 'weird rituals,' his stomach was reminding him that if he, a lowly human, could still catch that scent on the air, there was no doubt something that ate birds could.

He'd walked these woods all his life. He knew there wasn't anything outside a bear or two that might threaten the village. But what if Finn was right? What if there had been some kind of weird ritual? What if the others had done something –

Something unnatural.

Like the silence.

"Let's go back." He said it much more quietly.

The crashing was getting louder. Whatever it was, it wasn't used to the trees, the roots, and the underbrush.

It was like the woods were trying to contain it. Like the very trees were trying to give them more time to get away.

The more he thought about it, the more certain he became.

This was dangerous. They needed to warn the village.

Arei took a few steps back, not surprised to see that Finn was still waiting where he'd been, behind the large, shedding pine tree, eyes fixed on the north-east.

"Finn!" he hissed.

He got another wave. "Stay hid! It's almost here!"

Arei was pretty sure he could outrun it; it was moving pretty slowly, all things considered. The weaving wasn't helping it. He knew the path to the village even blindfolded.

His sister was there. His momma.

And all the other men in the village, too. Whatever it was didn't sound too big, but nothing that sounded like this thing sounded could have scared so much wildlife.

What if it only sounded light?

A heavy sound, punctuated by snapping wood. It was close enough now that they could hear it breathing. It was a harsh sound, a terrified sound.

A human sound.

And it was real close.

Arei glanced at Finn, then dared to poke his eyes out above the brush.

He could hear it scrabbling to its feet again, could hear a tearing sound. The gasps were more pronounced, and then a cough –

It wasn't just human.

It was a woman.

Another few seconds and movement caught his eye. To the north-east. For a moment, Arei wasn't sure she was human. Her face-

Blood, he realized, slowly straightening.

She was so pale, the blood made it look like her chin was missing, her neck was missing. It had dripped down between her bare breasts, and her arms and torso bore thin black stripes like a badger, telltale signs of unforgiving branches and thorns. Her dirt-colored, fiber-woven skirt was still on, though it was torn and stained in many places. Her feet were bare, and from the amount of dried pine needles and mud stuck to them he was sure they were torn to ribbons.

And while her eyes were almost black with fear, they were able to pick him out of the brush.

Arei forced himself not to bolt as she tore exhaustedly towards him. Despite the fact that she was naked from the waist up, as promised, he found he couldn't have cared less. He didn't know her, but she was one of them, no doubt. The hard-woven skirt, the long hair –

Why was she bleeding? What had happened?

She seemed determined to reach him, and he stepped around the bushes lest she cut herself further on them. She stumbled, falling again as her skirt caught around her feet, and let loose with a wail such as he'd never heard in his life. It chilled his blood, and the oppressive silence was suddenly warm and welcome in comparison. Finn, who was closer, didn't twitch a muscle in the crying woman's direction, and Arei hesitated only a moment more before rushing to her. The cry didn't abate, though it became a scream the moment he touched her.

"M-ma'am?" he tried, awkwardly laying a hand half on her shoulder before withdrawing it. He was afraid to help her up; he'd never touched a half-naked woman before, and he didn't really know where to put his hands. He settled for her upper arms, trying to drag her into a sitting position. Her face was completely hidden by long, tangled blonde hair, and she was shaking so hard he was barely able to keep his light grip on her.

All the while, she continued to babble. "Ifbawaughf! Ifbawaughf!"

He forced her to sit upright, and when she picked up her face to look at him, still half-screaming nonsense, he found himself fighting not to do the same.

The blood was from her mouth. From inside it.

Her tongue was gone.

- x -

**Amestris, 1922 (Present)**

"I find it quite disturbing, personally."

He didn't allow his expression to change, merely inclining his head as his attendant placed the cup of tea by his right hand. The speaker, sitting opposite him at the small, round wooden table, had already been served his tea, and was likewise ignoring it.

Probably thought it was poisoned, he thought wryly.

It wouldn't be the only poisonous thing in the room.

"It reassures me to hear that, your Eminence," he responded smoothly. It wasn't reassuring in the least. He hadn't missed the man's meaning, but he was wondering just how blunt the dignitary across from him was going to get.

For his part, the Supreme Commander of Drachma snorted indelicately. "Don't misunderstand. You may be young, but you've proven you're not an imbecile."

Well, that was pretty direct.

"I understand that you may not yet have complete control of your Parliament," the older man continued, in a thickly accented voice. "You've been in the position not even a year. A seasoned leader could hardly do better."

Roy Mustang leaned back slightly, appearing to take the words as a compliment. His posturing elicited a barely concealed smirk from the foreign commander. "However, continue allowing this propaganda to spread, and I will have to take steps."

Roy chuckled softly and reached for his teacup. "How ominous. And what steps might those be?"

The smirk was finally unveiled, though it turned out to be a bit more like a small, challenging smile than anything else. "You must understand, Minister. These aren't merely nasty rumors to my people. It's a matter of national pride for us. Every Drachman knows, if any of these assassins had truly been our people, they would have succeeded."

Mustang took a sip of his tea, found it slightly too hot, and gently set the cup back in its saucer. This meeting would have been better over a bottle of cognac and they both knew it. Had it been hosted in Drachma, rather than Amestris, he was certain that was how it would have been handled.

That and possibly a fistfight.

That he probably would have lost. The tea, like the intimate setting, lent a cordial air of camaraderie to something that was swiftly becoming anything but.

"To be honest, the fact that we haven't wiped you off the map should be enough for your people." Roy folded his naked hands neatly on the table and met the other man's gaze squarely. "As I understand it, this morning you were made privy to our investigative efforts. The evidence points overwhelmingly towards Drachma. To the point of ridiculousness, really," he added as an afterthought. "I've never personally known a Drachman to be that sloppy."

It was both a backhanded compliment and a warning. He couldn't actually state he felt that the Drachmans were being framed. The ambiguousness of his words afforded them both some protection. Mustang was fairly certain his Eminence Shurik Tolya was well aware of the implication, but at the same time, they both had secretaries copying down the conversation verbatim. Those records could be used in legal proceedings against the other, from embargo to all-out war. Since Mustang answered to the Parliament, he had to be more conscious of what he promised and what he merely insinuated.

Tolya, on the other hand, answered to no people's government, and thus didn't have to show the same caution. In fact, he threw his head back and laughed.

"So I did, son, so I did." Somewhat irritatingly, the man had both the age and experience to address him so; Shurik Tolya was over fifty, stocky and bearing the slight paunch of a once-muscular man gradually surrendering to age. His hair was still quite dark, his skin both pale and hardened from the harsh northern winters. Like most of his people, his eyes were a deep brown flecked with blues, and they were clear. His mind was as agile as it had been when he'd been only a major himself, leading a guerrilla campaign against the Briggs base.

He was dangerous, but not reckless. He didn't strike Mustang as a general that was eager for war.

Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't take an opportunity when he saw one.

"I see you've recovered fully from the poison. Do you know what it was?"

Mustang leaned back further in his straight-backed chair, reaching again for his cup of tea. "It appears to have been a new concoction. Possibly from Xing."

Tolya didn't bat an eye at the lie. "I was interested in the link to your famed State Alchemists. Tell me, now that they are falling under scrutiny, will it be as convenient for you to mobilize them?" The Drachman leaned forward, still ignoring his tea. "I understand that military force alone is totally under your control, and it would be unfortunate if you couldn't trust them."

Unfortunate didn't really cover it. If Parliament didn't want to go to war, there really wasn't much Mustang could do about it. He could command the army, under General Hakuro, for up to thirty days while Parliament deliberated. That was their one concession to him; they had specifically created the Prime Minister's role to allow swift and decisive military action, the one thing the Parliament, due to its design, could likely never accomplish.

Once those thirty days were up, if the Parliament and the people disapproved of the move, the troops could be recalled. The National Alchemists were truly the only force he could command without explicit permission from Parliament.

A force he'd promised he would never send to the front lines.

Of course, he didn't really need to worry about it, in this case, and he allowed himself a relaxed and pleasant look. "Please do not worry yourself. Parliament is more than willing to commit Amestris' forces when the party behind the assassination attempts is rooted out. Our previous administration was too hasty in militaristic matters, and the people find it refreshing that their current government is more thorough."

The older gentleman grunted. "To lean too far in the other direction is the same error. Don't be so timid."

Mustang fought back a laugh. Hadn't they gotten past simple baiting? "As I said, do not concern yourself. I will keep you appraised of anything significant we turn up in our investigations. I hope for both our sakes that further evidence does not point northward."

He really wasn't going to keep Parliament under wraps forever.

Tolya merely grunted again, finally dropping his eyes to his teacup disdainfully as the Prime Minister took another sip. "See that you do. Honesty between us could help us both."

Now that was an odd thing to say. It was the first time during the conversation Mustang could recall the Supreme Commander insinuating that his country had anything to gain by continuing peaceful relations with Amestris.

"In fact, as a token of my trust, I will place three diplomats in your care."

Or there was that . . .

Mustang merely raised an eyebrow. "You're proposing opening a embassy here in Amestris?"

He received an icy smile. "Such a thing would require a concession of land, of course, for the building."

Mustang considered that a moment. "A staff of three would likely not have need of an entire building. While I understand it would be impossible to declare sovereign soil in one of our government buildings, please accept an offer of temporary offices here in Central until you determine the duration and permanent staff of such an embassy."

It wasn't a no, per se. Even if it really was. Conceding land, particularly in Central, no matter how small the tract, would be a huge mistake. Particularly if done to a country that was widely believed to be responsible for attempt after attempt on the Prime Minister's life. The Speaker had nearly had apoplexy when Roy had suggested the visit in the first place, and had been forced to sit in a cool, dark place for several hours when they received word that the Drachmans had actually agreed.

Tolya continued to smile. "That is an adequate offer. Please give them what information you would like to come directly to me."

Roy merely inclined his head, giving no indication that he caught the underlying meaning of those words.

He was right. The Drachmans were being framed. Or at least, Tolya was out of the loop.

Or he wanted Mustang to believe that.

"Of course, your Eminence."

"I don't suppose you have anything to liven up this dirty water you've served me?"

Mustang paused a moment, as if running down a list in his head, before casually reaching into his uniform jacket. He was on his third, and it had an upgrade the first two designs had lacked; an inner pocket that perfectly fit a small flask. It wasn't his flask, either; it was not initialed or otherwise marked, but it was of obviously fine craftsmanship, and elegantly designed to hold the maximum amount of alcohol with the slightest profile. It was, for all intents and purposes, completely invisible to anyone observing his profile, even when filled with liquor.

He'd found it the second he'd tried the jacket on, but per her usual, his seamstress had just poked him hard on the shoulder to ensure she'd gotten the breadth of his back correct, growled at him to keep it in good condition, and tottered out of his offices. He'd been too bemused to thank her, though he expected his surprised and pleased expression had done that for him.

So the old bat wasn't all bad.

And in this case, he'd had the foresight to pre-fill it. Sheska had done the research, and he was fairly certain his choice had been a good one.

Without a word he freed the flask, choosing to toss it at the opposing commander rather than stand and hand it to him. The other man caught it as if he'd been expecting it, and raised an eyebrow as he turned the flask over in his hands. He then unscrewed the top, passing the flask beneath his nose in a manner not unlike a chemist might waft an unknown and possibly dangerous vapor.

. . . in fact, he did it _exactly_ like a scientist might.

Filing the observation away, he continued to watch the older man contemplate the scent for a moment before barking a laugh. He poured a generous portion into his teacup, which had only been three-quarter filled, and capped the flask. He turned the container over in his hands again, eying it appreciatively before tossing it back. Mustang caught it and pocketed it as the other took a long draught of his 'improved' tea.

Neither man said anything, but Mustang figured it was probably as informative for Tolya as it had been to him. Roy had done his research, thought ahead, and come prepared. A man that operated that way for a meeting of this nature would operate the same way on a battlefield.

And either poisoning was a big problem in Drachma, or Tolya had been working as or with scientists of his own, probably in response to that damned uranium bomb threat almost a year ago.

"You look like him," the older man said shortly, swirling the liquid around in his cup. "A little younger. A lot prettier. But basically the same."

Mustang just watched him silently. Obviously they were taking about Bradley.

"Don't be him. Don't be afraid of him, either. And before you burn his book, take another page out of it. Get married." He downed the rest of the contents of his cup before placing it back down on the table, rather than its saucer. "It could have a bigger impact than just to your love life.."

Roy allowed his eyebrows to crawl for his hairline. "If you're insinuating I have any desire to abolish a people's government and become Fuhrer, let me assure you nothing could be farther from the truth." Most leaders would scramble to ensure they had a nice, legal line of heirs to their throne; Amestris intelligence reported Tolya had no fewer than seven sons of his own, each the blood of his current wife. His only wife; like all Drachmans before him, he also chose not to clutter up the line of succession by divorcing his wives. Or killing them. Some of them had probably needed the latter.

Tolya shook his head, standing to signal that the meeting was over. "You aren't the only one that does his research, son."

Mustang also got to his feet, not allowing any of his body language to be construed as offensive. As near as he could tell, this meeting was as close to a total success as he could have hoped for. It had been a good move to get Tolya away from Parliament, and he was certain nothing he'd said could be misconstrued by them. Some of the things Tolya had said would possibly alarm them, but that was to be expected. He'd defended them without alienating a personal relationship with the Supreme Commander of Drachma. Which was more than the Speaker was able to do.

He'd bought himself a little more time. Parliament would be sated, at least temporarily, and he didn't expect that Tolya would do anything more alarming than he already was, which was occasionally 'knocking' on the Briggs' base front door to see what the response would be.

He'd need to make sure these diplomats didn't run into Major General Olivier Armstrong during her stay in Central. Sighting her outside of his control could undo some the shaky trust they'd just reached.

"It was a pleasant way to spend the morning." It wasn't even a total lie. Considering his next appointment was going to be with Hakuro, regarding some 'plan' the general had hatched to accelerate efforts to capture the assassins and parties responsible.

He wasn't dragging his feet on purpose; the fact was that they simply had little intel he could really trust. He didn't really know whether another of their neighbors was trying to incite a war or the efforts were coming from within Amestris. And despite how useful it had been at the time, Roy Mustang was this close to dragging a certain State Alchemist out onto the parade grounds and reminding him – heatedly – why lying on record was universally a bad idea.

Johann Irving, and what had transpired thereafter, had had nothing to do with the parties intent on starting a war. But it couldn't have been more inconvenient. And while there was no doubt Edward Elric's off-the-cuff fib had saved that situation, and possibly thousands of lives, Roy was certainly paying for it now. Hawkeye had nearly died, and he'd been in the hospital quite some time himself. It had made it appear that the assassins, rather than being something the government could shrug off, really did have the power to end the Prime Minister's life. If they could do that, the people reasoned, what was to stop them from killing members of Parliament as well?

Unease was being further fueled by the 'radiation' feedback that was still affecting parts of the city. That, at least, couldn't be tied to the Drachmans - Edward had effectively made it a separate issue. Not that they weren't still paying for it, even if that truth had remained intact; Fuery and Breda were still being kept on light duty only, and Dr. Patterson wasn't sure Kain would ever completely recover.

He needed something hopeful, something positive to report on the Drachman front, and this was as close as he was going to get. It _certainly_ could have been worse.

"Likewise," Tolya replied, extending a hand once they had walked around the round table. The shake was brief, with the older man trying to crush his hand, and Roy responded with force. That show of dominance done, the two proceeded shoulder-to-shoulder for the door of Mustang's office.

"I assume you'll be keeping to your travel plans for the day?" As far as he knew, this was to get on a train and head due north until the trains ended, then take a car to the border. Mustang had stationed his people carefully, and had sent Havoc and Falman along to the next station, to accompany the Drachmans plainclothed. The last thing he needed was for a gung-ho citizen to 'save' his country by trying to assassinate the enemy.

The elder man nodded, falling back a stride to allow Mustang to pull open the door for him. "Minus the diplomatic party I will be leaving in your care. Mistreat them and I'll hear of it."

There was that trademark bluntness again. Mustang was slightly surprised by the comment but he let it pass, following the other man into his secretary's office, where Hawkeye and Brooks were waiting with the rest of the Drachman party. It was fairly small, consisting of six large and expressionless bodyguards, three equally unimpressed attending ladies, one colonel serving as an advisor, and two of the colonel's subordinate lieutenants.

It wasn't difficult to pick out the three he was meaning, and Mustang almost shook his head. Of _course_ Tolya wouldn't send three specially trained diplomats to represent Drachma in Amestris, not when he could use Roy's promise to allow the Drachman military to have access to his government buildings instead.

Not that Mustang would. It was just another part of the process of feeling each other out. Shurik wouldn't be bothering unless he was preparing for war or preparing for peace. For better or worse, it indicated Drachma was looking to change its relationship with Amestris.

They came to a stop by the party, and he made sure to make eye contact with every member of the visiting group. "I'll see that your men are given sufficient lodging and facilities immediately."

Shurik gave him an odd look. "The formality is unnecessary. They're not officers."

Mustang gave the Drachman a politely puzzled look, and he received a wide – and significantly warmer – smile, as well as a strong pat on the back. "Don't look so frightened! They're quite used to it. No need to pamper them." He cast a very direct look towards the head of Mustang's security detail. "I can see you treat your women similarly. They should feel at home here."

Mustang stared at the other man a moment, and as the supreme commander's grin widened, he realized he'd been unable to keep his sudden look of understanding to himself.

Oh.

Of course.

He did manage to keep the sigh to himself, with effort, and instead half-bowed at the waist in their direction. "My apologies, ambassadors. I will personally ensure the facilities will be to your liking."

He received three sharp nods in reply, all in unison.

And one equally sharp glance, though not from the Drachmans.

She didn't say anything, though, and he ignored her for the moment, extending an arm before him to indicate the party should proceed to the main hallway. The Speaker and a few choice representatives were waiting to escort the Drachman Supreme Commander and his entourage to Central Station. This particular business was, at least for now, concluded.

He waited until they left his outer office, including the three 'diplomats,' before relaxing, placing his hands in his pockets and rolling his head on his shoulders.

Okay, so it could _still_ have been worse. At least now he understood the other leader's comments.

"General Hakuro is waiting in the Blue Room."

He nodded acknowledgement, glancing as his secretary extended a thin manila folder, containing whatever outline Hakuro had submitted when he'd requested the meeting. He began walking immediately, and as always, Riza was just a step behind him.

But not for long. She extended her stride to catch up, walking side by side with him, through the complex internal corridors that linked the Prime Minister's office to the seven adjoining conference rooms. He had never had more than two pre-filled and could not fathom anything that would require him to have all seven full simultaneously.

"Ambassadors?"

She was pretty blunt, too, all things considering.

He felt himself smile. "Shurik's concerned that the rumors of failing Drachman assassins will hurt his country's image." He'd left the three women, and the message that marrying one of them would be sufficient to smooth relations and overlook the assassin rumors. Not only was the man giving him a time limit, he was also giving him an out.

Surprisingly generous, in fact.

"Informants?"

"Potential wives," he replied, glancing at her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Riza took this information in stride, as he knew she would. Her eyes shifted slightly to her left as she considered.

"Shall I house them in the west suites?"

Putting cold-blooded Drachmans into the warmest suites in the building would certainly make them uncomfortable – but if they were here to seduce him, that could also encourage them to wear as little as possible. It would also be a move Shurik would be expecting.

"No need. But take First Lieutenant Ross with you. Give her an opportunity to make nice."

Maria Ross was very good at appearing exactly what she was; sincere. These Drachman women wouldn't warm up to Hawkeye, knowing she was his chief of security. They'd be suspicious of all military personnel, female or not. But the clearly subordinate Ross might be able to strike a chord with them that other officers couldn't. It wasn't terribly likely, but it didn't hurt to try.

Hawkeye accepted the command with a nod. But rather than move to carry it out, she continued to walk with him a moment. She really had no business in his meeting with Hakuro; both knew the other man wasn't behind the attempts, and would move as fast as any other officer to stop an attack, if only for the credit of saving his life. Clearly something else was on her mind.

"All three are your type," she observed mildly, stopping with him just outside the Blue Room.

Roy glanced at her, this time really studying her expression. That was a good point; all three women were varying shades of brunette, all with striking features and smoky eyes. None were taller than he was, and they came in varying degrees of curviness.

Tolya said he'd done his research, but that wasn't really the point Hawkeye was trying to make.

It wouldn't have been impossible for a well-trained intelligence officer to determine Roy's 'type.' There were enough in the military that had girls he'd stolen away at some point, and his current position meant it would be relatively easy to get that kind of information out of jealous officers. It didn't necessarily mean someone close to him was betraying him.

It did indicate, however, that Drachma had a well-trained intelligence officer placed within or with easy access to the Amestris military. Such an officer would also be able to determine the types of foods he liked, his schedule, his old habits, and the names of his most trusted subordinates.

A prerequisite, if you wanted to successfully depose an enemy.

"You noticed," he commented dryly, and she gave him a flat look before spinning on her heels and returning to his secretary's office. Tucking her warning away, he glanced at the folder in his hand a moment before pushing open the conference room door. He hadn't had time to brief himself, but he was pretty sure Hakuro would get straight to the point.

That was one thing he could count on the good general to be. Nice and predictable.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Due to the wonderful and overwhelming feedback of readers both here and in email, and several more plotholes being dragged into the light of day (not mine, thank God), I have decided to write this third and final fic set in this little miniverse of mine. It also promises to be a twenty-chapter one-shot. ; ) After all, I barely even _mentioned_ Edward in this first chapter. You know it's going to be a long fic if the Elrics don't even appear until chapter two.

A couple warnings, now that you've read this far: this fic is significantly more complicated than its predecessors, and significantly darker. It will not be updated at the breakneck pace of the first two. This is for two reasons; I am no longer pushing myself to see how long it takes me to write a cohesive novel-length work, and I am not composing this as a present for any one person.

And now that I've scared you off, remember – no matter how dark it gets, the title does include the words Perfect After All. That does not, however, apply to my grammar and spelling. This is posted with no beta, and I apologize for any mistakes I didn't catch on a readthrough! Hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the previous two!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

The Blue Room was so labeled because its color scheme was a very soothing set of light blues and whites, accented here and there with the deep navy of the Amestrian military uniforms. One such accent was seated at the oblong conference table.

Everything about the General complimented the room. His stripes and ribbons added a slight air of warmth to the otherwise cool colors, his short-cropped hair was long silvered, even his eyes were a blue so diluted it appeared grey. He sat very straight-backed in the seat, though he suspected this was because Hakuro heard the door opening, and while he did not stand as his Prime Minister entered the room, he coolly inclined his head.

There was no doubt he would have looked better sitting in the seat at the end of the table. Older, distinguished, serious and direct.

But the job required more than looks. His capabilities were limited but could be put to good use. It was one of the only reasons he still had the position he enjoyed. That and it would look tacky, even this far after the elections, to demote the decorated general. He was sure fully one-quarter of the goldcoats in the House would immediately veto anything he put before Parliament if anything were to happen to the more-than-occasionally contrary officer.

Mustang gave an equally cold nod in return, dropping the meeting notes carelessly at the head of the table and taking his designated seat. It was generally considered good manners not to sit directly next to the Prime Minister if having a one-on-one meeting, though he'd never figured out why. Hakuro had left the required empty seat, though Roy was not fooled; what courtesy the general showed him was usually meant to be mocking.

General Hakuro had a long memory, and they'd butted heads too many times. Mustang's reinstatement with promotion after the Thule Invasion had pretty concretely solidified the man's dislike for him and truthfully Roy hadn't been that concerned about mending that bridge. After the election, they'd settled for this . . . truce. Which they'd been keeping to pretty well, so long as neither stepped over the line.

And they'd stick with it, likely for another year at least. Until the re-election date was scheduled, at any rate. That was why Hakuro was predictable; he wouldn't do anything to risk the country, but he was largely an uncreative man who was exceptionally good at following orders.

Even his.

"I assume you've not actually reviewed that," the general began, nodding his chin to indicate the sheet of paper peeking out from between the edges of the manila folder. Roy looked at him steadily.

"Should I have? You don't usually waste my time."

The general leaned back in the seat, a sure sign he felt he had the high ground. Perhaps he _should_ have read the outline. "In this case, I've saved a significant amount of it." He had two folders sitting on the table beside him, and he put his fingertips on one, sliding it across the table. "Let me get to the point, Minister. You're moving too slowly and not aggressively enough in the search for the informant or informants that are obviously providing intelligence to your enemies. I took the liberty of speaking to Parliament on your behalf, and these are the results of that preliminary investigation."

Mustang narrowed his eyes slightly but accepted the folder silently. The first page, a summary of the half-inch thick stack of reports below, confirmed the general's words.

Hakuro had met with Parliament and been granted permission to carry forth investigations on Mustang's staff, all military personnel with the required security clearance, Parliament members, and the National Alchemists.

He read it several times, making sure he wasn't misunderstanding. Parliament – including the Speaker, he would have had to have been included for this to have been authorized – had met with the head of the military. Without his knowledge. Weeks ago, if the date on the document was any indication.

And had only resulted in an investigation . . . ? Why would Hakuro tip his hand if this was all he had? Why reveal that he had the power to call Parliament and keep it from him and his staff if this was all that had come of it?

Or perhaps he didn't have a choice?

Was this investigation Hakuro's purpose for calling that meeting, or was it merely the result of some other request? Why had the general approached them in the first place? He had enough authority – and permission – to conduct thorough investigations on his own.

Of course, that list included people higher up than the general was. Ranking officials not in the military. And the National Alchemists, over which he had no jurisdiction. But then why not just come to him for that permission?

Not allowing his expression to slip, Roy flipped to the second page, which began an exhaustive list of names of military officers that required further investigation, and the general took that as a signal that he should continue.

"I apologize for keeping you in the dark," he started blandly, "but I felt it necessary and the Speaker agreed. Internal investigation of your people was headed up by Major Heymans Breda."

Mustang glanced up, allowing his displeasure to show. That made sense; of all his personal staff, Fuery and Breda were the least busy. But that was for a very good reason. "The major was to be kept to light duty only-"

"Most of these investigations were done at a desk. Reviewing timecards and security logs. Nothing too strenuous."

Roy dropped the pages back to the stack, clasping his hands and folding them neatly over the report. Going over lists of names was a waste of time at this point. So was yelling and screaming. What was done was done. At least he knew about it now. Hopefully the investigation had been focused around their whereabouts during the assassination attempts, and not their activities prior. "And did you find anything of interest?"

"We did." Hakuro opened the second folder, which did not, as Mustang had guessed, contain a duplicate report. It seemed to contain copies of personnel files. He flipped through until he came to a paperclipped set of pages, and he pulled them. "Given the last attempt, which was a poisoning that was successful despite a deviation from your planned agenda for the day, we determined an informant would likely have to have been in your personal staff, have access to your personal staff, or have a connection to the Academy you visited."

Which was perfectly logical, if the poisoning had been an assassination attempt.

Which it hadn't been.

For the second time in an hour, he found himself having the urge to strangle Edward Elric. "This is the same conclusion my security detail arrived at. Is there anything of use you have to report?"

The general gave him a dry look. "Outside of certain discrepancies with your statement concerning the events surrounding Johann and Craege Irving's attack on the city?"

Damn.

"And what would those discrepancies be?" He'd been in the hospital room when Edward had created a statement out of thin air, which meant his own description of the day's events had been the same. Which was, unfortunately, a lie. That he repeated, multiple times, to Parliament, investigational committees, and the general. He had been unconscious when Hawkeye had eventually awoken, but she'd always been quick on her feet, and without any prompting from anyone had claimed she didn't remember anything after leaving Edward's class. She omitted the letter altogether.

This had led the main investigational committee to assume the poison had been in the Academy, which in turn had led to the Academy being shut down for several days while an exhaustive testing had been completed. Alphonse Elric had been especially helpful during that process, hypothesizing that it could have been something broken down by light, by oxygen, or even by time itself to dissolve harmlessly, thus the reason no one else was poisoned. This was backed up by Russell Tringum. The investigators had had no choice but to report that they were unable to find any poison, and listed the two accomplished alchemists' explanations as the likely cause of this failure.

In reality, Falman had been quick enough to retrieve both the letter from Irving and his jacket from Edward's car prior to anyone finding it. Roy had ordered the man to destroy it even as he'd slipped on the jacket and hurried out to the publishing house, and been assured when he'd woken later that week that there was no other evidence remaining.

So the only discrepancy Hakuro could have found was that there was no evidence of the supposed 'Drachmans' that had kidnapped them in the first place, besides their injuries. That and some letters Edward claimed he'd gotten from Craege Irving. Edward had later forged one letter, saying he'd forgotten to keep it with the others that had presumably been lost or stolen when he abandoned his car. The lack of applications was explained away by Edward, though he supposed the Academy's secretary could have testified that she never recalled seeing them. At most it was circumstantial, but if he'd put enough of the pieces together . . .

"It is my belief Edward Elric was lying," the general replied. "Your continued lack of interest with any leads found from that attempt on your life seem to support my hypothesis."

Mustang quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Hakuro sighed. "His lie stood up rather well to inquiry, thanks to the timely amnesia Colonel Hawkeye suffered as a result. Your willingness to parrot such nonsense also helped it tremendously." He glanced back down at the report. "Frankly, so long as it continues to survive scrutiny I have no choice but to continue to act as if it is fact. But due to my . . . lack of faith, you might say, I chose to overlook that attempt and concentrate on two attempts after you took office."

Mustang stared at him flatly for a moment. Where was Hakuro going with this . . . ? "You just said the conclusions reached in this report were based on information gathered from that day."

"That report, yes," he agreed. "I submitted it to the Speaker this morning during your meeting with the Drachmans." He tapped the folder in front of him. "This one contains a much more narrowed list. I am informing you of this at this time because I will need to complete exhaustive investigations on several of your most trusted staff, and I require your cooperation."

He finally picked up the paperclipped report, sliding it over to Roy, who immediately picked it up. The first personnel sheet was Sergeant Sheska. He flipped to the second. Fuery. Havoc. Patterson. Even Brooks, one of the bodyguards he'd swiped from the Speaker.

He was less than a quarter through the pile.

Had this research come from Breda, or was he under investigation as well? It was fully possible Hakuro was taking this all the way back to the uranium bomb incident, since the first attempts on his life had been before he'd even taken office. In which case he could easily figure out why Havoc, Fuery, and Dr. Patterson were on the list. Sheska had probably sent up a warning flag because she'd identified some of the real evidence they had so quickly. Brooks was a more recent addition, and as the Speaker's bodyguard he would have been standing in most of the otherwise closed meetings.

But he worked so closely with Goodman, Roy couldn't believe one was dirty without the other knowing. They'd been a team since the day they'd been selected to watch the Speaker, which had been just after the Thule invasion, when Parliament had really taken control. It had been extremely difficult to pry them away, but given the near success of the 'assassination' attempt that was the Irvings, the Speaker had had no choice. And he hadn't even considered trying to split them up, which told Roy they really worked best together as a team.

He continued flipping through the reports to see if Goodman was also on the list, but his hand froze as the next name jumped off the page.

Russell Tringum.

Hakuro had obviously noted his sudden stillness, because he started talking again. "It also contains several suspect National Alchemists, as you can see."

He brought his eyes back up to watch the general, trying to judge his expression. It was . . . guarded. Obviously Hakuro didn't know how he was going to react to this.

And just what the hell _was_ this? Had Hakuro made some kind of play to get the State Alchemists out from under him? Taking control of them would prevent him from using them without approval from Parliament, and also prevent him from keeping his promise to keep them off the front lines. Despite their precarious political position, if he had the National Alchemists Hakuro could move forward with his plan to make war on Drachma.

How the hell had he pulled this off without anyone knowing? Obviously Hakuro had ordered Breda's silence, but couldn't the man have given the rest of them some kind of clue? Or was he so angry about being kept on light duty . . . ? Heymans wasn't the type to hold a grudge like that.

Had he threatened Breda with something? Medical discharge, maybe? Surely Heymans trusted him enough to know he'd never let it happen.

"Tringum? Surely you're not serious." He felt like he was right back in the previous meeting, testing an enemy's position.

The general seemed to relax a little, as if he'd been expecting a shout. "There are others. Morris, Sorn, and of course Edward Elric."

Roy let the reports fan through his fingers back to the folder, staring at Hakuro. "He wasn't even on the_ planet_ when the first attempt was made-"

The general inclined his head. "I'm not sure I believe that story either, but I do accept he wasn't in the country at the time. And while many of his actions have been extremely suspect, I'm certain he would kill you personally if he were so inclined."

Mustang tapped the reports. "You truly believe these people could have served as informants?" How was he justifying this list? Who in their right mind would think Russell Tringum was trying to kill him? Or helping someone else get rid of him? Tringum was ecstatic about the Academy and the path the State Alchemists were taking. Things couldn't have worked out better for the Tringum brothers if they'd mail-ordered them.

He, too, could be on this list for the assistance he rendered during the election. Or possibly because he'd been involved with the creation of Irving's crystal . . . ?

The general didn't respond for a moment. "If I am understanding things correctly, the poisoning of you and your chief of security was not related to this. But the fact is, someone is trying to topple this government. You continue to insist it is not the Drachmans when every shred of evidence we have points to them. If you refuse to provide some sort of explanation for your belief, there is no choice but to pursue the evidence."

. . . did Hakuro seriously think he was dealing under the table with Tolya? Mustang leaned forward despite himself. "That choice is mine-"

"That choice will be taken from you if you do not act," the general interrupted sternly. "You cannot continue merely calling together committees and shuffling troops around the country. If you're that certain it's not Tolya's doing, that doesn't mean a faction within Drachma isn't responsible."

Mustang bit off his retort with a thinning of his lips. That was true; there was nothing saying someone wasn't actually trying to get rid of the current Supreme Commander. In fact, that could explain some of the quasi-supportive things the older man had said. But even if it was true, and he was certain the other leader had already launched his own investigations, they would have to wait either for Tolya to offer up some Drachmans – which was not going to happen – or they'd have to actually capture one alive and get a confession. One they believed.

And arguing with Hakuro here was pointless. They'd been around this circle enough times that he was certain they were equally sick of it.

"I can and will continue to pursue these investigations thoroughly," he said calmly. "As always, you have permission to continue your own investigations and I encourage them. But the choice of war is mine, and it will not be forced by outside influences until I am certain it is necessary."

Hakuro shook his head, expelling a sigh loudly through his nose. "You're damn lucky the Irvings happened when they did," he growled. "You have the people's wholehearted support and currently that's the only thing that's keeping you from being overruled. But winter is well on the way. If you put this off much longer, you're going to have mass losses from the climate alone –"

"I'm well aware." It would actually work to his favor, to use the oncoming winter as a reason to put off deploying troops to the far north. "Find the informant. Bring me something to change my mind. Otherwise, continue the border netting operations and hope the next one manages to stay alive long enough to tell us who hired him."

Hakuro glared, but gave a jerky nod. He knew an order when he heard one, and Mustang was rarely so heavy-handed with him. "Due to the investigations of the National Alchemists and some of the staff of the Academy, I will be increasing the military's presence in the academy for the duration of the investigation. I also need the academy's records and the cooperation of its director and his personnel."

Meaning Fullmetal.

"You'll have it." Hakuro had made it very plain that he could use any refusal as further fuel. He needed to determine just how much support Hakuro had before he did anything else. Hopefully the notes from the conversation earlier would loosen the noose around his throat a little.

"Speaking of which," the general added, almost smugly, "I feel obligated to inform you, if you weren't yet aware, that the court-martial for the Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric's desertion from the military in 1915 is proceeding. He has been stripped of his military rank for the duration of the court-martial."

So Edward would have no authority to order the soldiers out of the academy even if he wanted to.

That was a pretty minor thing, all said, though the timing was a little suspect, since Edward had been back in Amestris nearly a year. He wondered if the general had been holding that court-martial up just for the chance to use it in this manner.

"Very well. Continue your investigation." He closed the folder, though he had no intentions of letting the general take it with him when he left. It would be given straight to Hawkeye, and from there, she would launch her own investigation. So long as she was able to get more information than Hakuro was, for better or worse, it would prove she was doing her job adequately to ensure his safety.

As for the rest of it . . . he could only hope Hakuro had little luck. There was almost no chance of him discovering what had been done to the bomb, even if he was using this excuse to investigate that more completely. But Ed's lie was much more flimsy, and if he could prove Mustang had lied to Parliament, repeatedly, the fact that he'd done it to hide a Philosopher's Stone would be moot compared to the political fallout. Parliament would never trust him again.

Though if the Speaker was meeting with Hakuro in an effort to work around him to make war on their neighbors, he wasn't sure he was ever going to trust either one of _them_ again.

Hakuro stood and bowed, leaving the reports on the table and making his way to the door on the opposite side of the room.

- x -

_It's been about two weeks now, but she's still limping pretty heavily. She won't let me look at it, and has been taking care to shut her door every time she goes into the bedroom or bathroom, so I haven't even gotten a peek._

He shook his head, hoping to banish the mental image of Winry sneaking around the Rockbell home, trying to catch Pinako in only her skivvies.

_She'd been complaining about it in the past, but in that kind of grumbling way she does. I guess I just never thought she'd gotten this bad. I mean, I noticed that she shrank, so she's even shorter than you now – HAH! I can see that look from here! – but she's granny, you know? It's really hard watching her trying to hide it from me. I don't think she's getting any better._

Leaning back farther in his chair, he took his feet off the desk, letting them fall gracelessly to the floor. A familiar metallic ring continued to peal out long after the heavy thud of impact had died, and he glowered down at his left leg.

That was something they needed to fix. Since the 'automail' was hollow, merely a covering armor over his flesh leg, if he hit it just right it had a tendency to think that it was a badly-shaped church bell. It was one of the few giveaways; Winry and Pinako had done a really good job with this last one.

Just like they'd done a good job with the one before. And the arm before that, the one they molded into a safe.

It really was hard to think of Pinako getting old. Even if she'd flat-out told him, the last time he was sitting on her porch, that she was considering replacing her hip. He'd not given the comment a second thought, since it was coming from someone as formidable as the Rockbell woman, but now he wondered if she hadn't been dead serious.

And that she'd told him, but not mentioned a thing to Winry . . .

She couldn't seriously be thinking of replacing her hip with automail. For one, she'd probably have to lose her leg, as well. Otherwise there'd be two ports to fit and there'd have to be some way to get blood past the automail. For another, the rehab process would kill a woman her age. Even a Rockbell her age. She'd never survive to really use the limb the way it ought to be used.

And he knew she knew that. If she was frail enough that a simple fall had hurt her that badly –

He blinked. Then what the _hell_ was she still doing in Resembool?!

Suddenly angry, he turned back to the letter. If the next paragraph wasn't Winry telling him when they were going to be in Central Station he was going to take a couple days off and get the battle-axe herself.

_I don't think she's getting any better._

_You know granny – she won't admit anything, she won't see the doctor here. I guess I don't really blame her. Jeffreis retired last year, and the partner that replaced him told the Martins that automail caused cancerous tumors to grow in the kidneys, since the blood ran so close to metal and carried it into the bloodstream. Which is complete shit! For one thing, it's steel! Maybe mixed with a little aluminum, but there's no evidence that any of that metal is being absorbed by the body! We've had customers who have had the same automail for twenty years (SOME people don't break theirs annually, or have it disintegrated, or mix alchemy-negating powder into it) and his limbs and ports showed no signs of degradation outside of normal wear and tear to the joint!_

_Honestly, what are they teaching people in medical school? Don't suppose you have any contacts there?_

He just shook his head sadly at the letter. She knew he'd been a doctor in Germany, during his stay in the world beyond the Gate. But she didn't know what he'd used his knowledge to do. He hadn't even considered practicing or studying medicine here, and he certainly didn't have any university contacts. Hell, the only doctor he really knew was Patterson –

Patterson, who had contacts throughout Central's hospital systems. He wouldn't be a bad choice; he'd probably be happy to speak with Winry. Ed was pretty sure the doc remembered her, considering he'd actually let her observe his surgery only a few days after he'd returned through the Gate to Amestris.

In fact, why hadn't she thought of that? He'd probably be willing to make a house call, if Pinako couldn't take the train.

_Anyway, sorry about the rant. I kind of need to ask you a favor. I was ho-_

Beside his elbow, the phone jangled to life.

_I was hoping you could give me the contact information fo-_

It rang again, vigorously enough to almost knock the half-balanced receiver off its cradle. He was pretty sure he was the only one that had a phone this old and this loud, and he was pretty sure he knew why.

Rolling his eyes, he reached his flesh hand across the desk and picked it up. "Professor Elric speaking."

There was the briefest pause. "I do wish you'd include your first name in your introduction. It's very difficult to tell the two of you apart on the telephone."

He half-smiled, and his prepared smart-ass comment was stashed away for another time. "You don't often call me, colonel. Perhaps if we spoke more often it would be easier for you to tell the difference."

"I truly believe you have a phone-related allergy," the female voice on the other end retorted. "You do have a dialing device on yours, correct?"

Yes, so he could call as well. He just never really had a reason to ring up the Chief of Security for the Prime Minister. One, because she was busy, and two, because he might then have to speak with the Prime Minister.

"No, I had it removed," he replied. "Prime Minister Bastard isn't planning on crashing another one of my classes, is he?" Probably to gloat, now that he _occasionally_ allowed transmutation as a teaching aide.

"I'm afraid not," she said formally, and he realized this was a business call. "General Hakuro will be stationing half a platoon in the Academy during an internal investigation of the State Alchemists and staff."

Half a platoon. That meant a squad and commanding lieutenant, at minimum. That was about ten privates and a couple support officers.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he snapped, before he could stop himself. "What are a dozen soldiers going to accomplish?" All the State Alchemists were, well, State Alchemists. The vast majority of them could eat a dozen Amestrian enlisted for breakfast. He didn't even need to ask what the general was investigating; Hakuro was looking for the informant that had poisoned the Prime Minister and Hawkeye when they'd visited the Academy almost six months ago. The one that didn't exist.

And she knew that.

"You are to give them full access to whatever they request, and to facilitate interviews with your staff," she continued calmly, as if she hadn't heard him. "This request for cooperation should come from you, rather than appearing a military order. Please make the announcement as soon as possible."

Edward Elric glared at the phone a moment. The alchemists had already been investigated once; the fact that he was coming back for round two either meant he'd found something, or he was certain there was something to find. And Ed knew damn well the general knew he'd been lying in his statement; though he'd never been able to explain where the supposed 'letters' from Craege Irving had gone, it hadn't really been pursued.

So was Hakuro trying to find proof that he'd lied, thus the Prime Minister had lied? Shitty timing, considering he knew the Drachman leader was in town, and Parliament was probably getting twisted bowel syndrome waiting for the outcome of _those_ audiences.

"I really hate the general," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

"Not as much as you will in a few minutes," Hawkeye responded cryptically. "You have your orders, major."

He was opening his mouth to ask what _that_ meant when the line went dead. Ed continued to glower at the phone a moment before he dropped the receiver back to the cradle. Damn. He only had about twenty minutes before class, and now he needed to script the announcement and make sure it was read on the overhead. Which meant disrupting the class, and since he had the alchemists next, rather than the physicists, that meant half the class period would be wasted with speculation.

The physicists were civilians, thus they'd be accepting of military interference because, well, it was the military. The alchemists all held the military rank of Major or higher, so they were a lot less likely to be impressed by some private demanding answers to a barrage of foolish questions.

Sighing irritably, he turned back to the letter in his hand.

_I was hoping you could give me the contact information fo-_

The knock on his door was so startlingly loud he was half-surprised the doorknob hadn't given. He knew that Alex Louis Armstrong was supposed to be back in town, which meant in class, but this couldn't have been him.

The door would have gone flying.

He stared at the letter a second more, intending to pretend he wasn't there, when whoever it was merely tried the handle. It wasn't locked; there was no point in locking doors around the Academy. All the students could bypass them, one way or the other. Few, however, were brave enough to simply barge into Edward Elric's office as if they owned the place.

And Al wouldn't have knocked to begin with.

The deep blue of an Amestrian uniform came into view, and Edward found himself on his feet before his brain made the decision to stand.

That was fast.

The soldier – a lieutenant, given his stripes – fully entered the room, spinning on his heels without a salute. Edward raised an eyebrow but didn't mention the slight. He honestly didn't care, though as a major he outranked the lieutenant. "Do you understand what a closed door means?"

The lieutenant forcefully thrust forward a large envelope. "I am here to serve your subpoena. Major Edward Elric, the Full Metal Alchemist, is to report at 0900 hours on thirtieth of the month for a court-martial to face charges of contempt, desertion, and willfully disobeying a direct order."

So not related to the investigation. Edward stared at the envelope flatly, not taking it from the outstretched hand. "I'll admit to the charge of contempt. You're dismissed."

The lieutenant raised his chin. "Until such time as the court-martial releases its findings, you are hereby stripped of your military rank of Major. Your travel documents have also been suspended. Your ranking as a National Alchemist still stands."

Well, wasn't that convenient. A National Alchemist that couldn't order a soldier . . .

Which meant he couldn't order the soldiers Hakuro was sending to the Academy.

That was why they'd waited so long on the court-martial. Hakuro had simply been waiting for a good time to use it.

Edward suppressed a curse, instead opting for a quiet laugh. "Of course. Am I under house arrest as well, lieutenant?"

The officer continued to hold out the envelope. "If you refuse to accept your subpoena, you will be placed under full arrest."

Edward clasped his hands as if in thought, rather than clapping, then reached out for the envelope. Because of the more subtle bringing together of his hands, the lieutenant didn't make the connection, and never flinched. A brief flash of red alchemic light lit up the room, and then the envelope was flaking apart in the man's hands.

"I'm afraid I can't accept documents in this condition," Edward observed cheerfully to the suddenly-blanching lieutenant. "Could you possibly get another copy of them for me? You can deliver them to my secretary, as I will be teaching class later this afternoon."

It would probably take the lieutenant all day to get signatures on all those documents again, as well as to track down a notary and witnesses. In the end, it didn't really change anything, since he had been verbally notified of the stripping of his rank.

But it made him feel a little better.

Edward tucked Winry's letter – still in his armored hand – into his jacket, stepping around the still-surprised lieutenant. They'd wasted too much time talking, and he didn't have time to read it and still script the suitable announcement. Obviously Hakuro was up to no good, if he'd gone out of his way to so obviously limit Ed's ability to hide things from his investigative staff. Not that there was much to hide; he'd long ago forged Craege Irving's application to the Academy, and that was really all he had to do. He didn't really think any of the State Alchemists were responsible for the real assassination attempts on Mustang, but he supposed there was always that chance. And if one of them was, then by all means they should be investigated and found.

Of course, the alchemists were the only military-related force still under the direct supervision of the Prime Minister. Casting doubts on them may have simply been a political move, to show that Mustang couldn't control them, or some other half-baked scheme for Hakuro to gain power with Parliament.

Ed hated politics.

His trip to the main office didn't yield any more military uniforms that weren't alchemists, and he gave the school secretary, Paise Dueys, a tight smile.

"Announce to the school that there will be an increased military presence while Parliament and the military complete an investigation of the faculty, staff, and students." It was blunt, but she'd water it down for him. "We will be giving them our complete cooperation."

Dueys, to her credit, just jotted down the note on her pink message pad without so much as a blink. "Are we glad or sad about this, Professor?"

He knew she was only asking because she could put whatever spin on the sweetened message that she liked. "We're tolerant of this," he responded.

"We do not appear tolerant."

"We're really fucking pissed off about something else." It was a weird quirk of hers, using a plural pronoun when referring to only him. According to Al, when she'd first started working, Edward's mood swings had frightened her so badly she'd apparently thought he had more than one personality. Now that she'd known him for almost a year, he was pretty sure she still used the 'we' as an inside joke. She was nothing like Mary Marguerite, but she was certainly as loyal.

"I see," she responded agreeably. "I will summarize this information and make an announcement as soon as I'm finished."

"Great. Thanks." This time he gave her a slightly nicer grin, and she beamed up at him from her seat behind the large desk. He glanced at the clock there, noting the time, and nodded his head to the other staff before turning right back around. His class was on the other end of the building, so he'd need to hustle or he wouldn't beat the bell, and he was _never_ late to a class-

"EDWARD ELRIC!"

An enormous hand clasped his armored shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. Sometimes the soon-to-be Major General Armstrong could walk as quietly as a cat.

Edward turned his head with a painful smile. "Welcome back, Brigadier General." Alex had left Central to go collect his family for the upcoming ceremony, which had been many months in the making but eventually even Hakuro couldn't come up with any more reasons to delay the promotion. "How was your trip?" Might as well kiss getting to class on time goodbye . . .

The Strong Arm Alchemist looked just as he always did, an immense tower of deep blue and barrel chest. His long blonde curl stood at attention on his almost sparkling bald head, and his mustache was especially tidy. His eyes appeared small in comparison with his gigantic head, but they were bright and filled with some emotion Edward couldn't put his finger on. They were also tearing up.

"Always so concerned for the welfare of others! Truly you are the Alchemist of the People-"

"Stop babbling," a cold female voice snapped. "And if you start crying again I will kill you."

Edward blinked, turning fully around despite the hand on his shoulder. Whoever had just spoken sounded as if she meant every word.

Beside the Brigadier General was another soldier, her shoulderpads indicating her to be a Major General. Her eyes came up to Armstrong's shoulders, indicating she was quite tall by other standards, and her long blonde hair artfully concealed half her face The other half was as sharp and cold as her voice had been. Her uniform was nearly the same as Alex's, but seemed to be made of thicker material.

Her words, appearance, and most importantly her uniform, told Edward exactly who this formidable woman was.

This was obviously Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong, Alex's older sister. She had apparently once said that if he ever caught up to her in rank, she would deign to be present at the ceremony. The fact that she was here probably meant more to Alex than she would ever know.

Or maybe not, giving the crying comment. Apparently she knew her younger brother quite well.

"You must be Olivier," he spoke into the sudden silence, as Alex released him and badly muffled a short sob. Ed offered her a hand, which she eventually accepted. Her eyebrow raised as she shook his hand, though she said nothing.

Of course. The automail.

"Has discipline degraded so much in Central that it is no longer standard protocol to salute a superior officer?"

Edward tried to hide his surprise, glad that he actually had an excuse. She was _nothing_ like her brother, which made him wonder about the rest of Alex's family. Apparently Havoc had met them once, but he didn't talk about it. It had happened while Ed had still been working for Mustang, years ago, but was still occasionally a topic of conversation among the men. Usually coming up when they were discussing finding poor Jean a woman.

Not that he thought anyone would have been foolish enough to think this woman would have seen anything in Havoc. Maybe Armstrong had more than one sister.

"I've been stripped of my military rank for an upcoming court-martial," he responded truthfully. If Hakuro thought that was going to somehow embarrass him, he was dead wrong.

The woman accepted the information, giving him a once-over. "Full Metal, correct?"

He inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you, major general. I've a class waiting. I'll catch up with you later, brigadier general?"

Alex managed a somewhat subdued goodbye, and Olivier simply stared at him as he made his way back down the hall. The woman was Alex's polar opposite. No wonder Armstrong was such an emotional guy. If the rest of his family was like that, he was probably crying for all of them. And they'd probably never thought such a 'soft' man would be promoted to such a high rank.

Edward lengthened his strides, managing to slip into the lecture hall just as the bell rang. It was a fairly small class, only a dozen or so alchemists, and Fletcher Tringum flashed him a grin as he took the stairs in a half-jog.

He counted heads as he hurried up to the lectern, eager to get class underway before the announcement was made on the overhead. It wasn't until he'd opened the notes already laid out on the large wooden podium before he realized someone was missing.

Edward scanned the upturned faces, noting three of his students frowning. Fletcher was standing next to them, still grinning like a lunatic. When he saw Ed's eyes on him, he subtly patted a bulging pocket.

Coins.

A bet. They'd been betting he wouldn't make class on time.

He resisted the urge to shake his head, instead counting heads again. Nine, ten, eleven . . . who was missing . . .?

Of course. None of the heads he was counting were red.

"Anyone seen Sorn?"

A few glances around the lecture hall, then headshakes.

Great. Stupid kid was probably out cleaning up the feedbacking materials again. Edward sighed and picked up the first page of notes. "Today's class is half lecture, half lab. We're going to be discussing molecular structure . . ."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Look at me, not furthering the plot! Oh, wait, I did . . . just boringly. Hakuro is up to something, which doesn't look good for our heroes. Things will pick up quickly, however, in the next chapter. Possibly explosions! Who doesn't like those?

As always, posted without a beta, I read through and caught what I could see. If you see any issues, let me know! Also, this is your VERY LAST CHANCE to remind me of plotholes in the anime and movie. I have several more that are going to be cleaned up in this, one of them pretty major. (HAH! Get it? Major? Sometimes I crack myself up . . . and actually, I think he was a Lieutenant Colonel, but that's beside the point! You get gooey fudgey brownies if you figure out who I'm talking about before I get there. )


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

They were halfway there before he realized he'd forgotten to finish the letter.

Startling the lieutenant beside him slightly, his hand shot into his inner vest pocket, withdrawing the crisply folded paper. It had been separated into three equal, perfect sections, and while it would have taken him some time to so precisely duplicate it, he was certain it had been automatic, swift, and without thought on her part.

But then, he supposed he was the same way, at least when it came to arrays. He could probably draw three perfect circles in fewer seconds blindfolded, when most people couldn't even draw one. They were both very proficient at their work.

His brain hung onto that thought uneasily as he unfolded the letter and continued where he'd left off.

_It's just that she's so stubborn! You know granny. I asked Ed for contact information for Dr. Patterson, so I expect he'll be sending that shortly. It isn't as if you guys often call (not even you!) so I'm afraid she'd get suspicious if either of you suddenly rang us up. It's been weeks, it isn't like another day for the mail to get here from Central is going to make that significant a difference._

_And I know you're sensing the 'but' . . ._

_I sort of need to ask a little favor._

Al smiled at the letter. Little favor? Hopefully she'd left that phrase out of the letter to nii-san.

_Okay, it's pretty big. If I can't get granny to agree to be seen, is there any chance you can come talk to her? She won't listen to me, and Ed would just make things worse – don't tell him I said that. She always listens to you. Even if there's no way to arrange having her seen by a doctor here, is there any way you could take a couple days and try to convince her to come back with you to Central?_

He wished he knew the answer to that. Unthinkingly, Al glanced back at the lieutenant, who had politely averted his eyes the moment he'd realized the letter was personal.

It was hard to tell if he was going to get a few days off in the near future. While it wouldn't be the first time he was pulled out of class because he was needed elsewhere, this was the first time he could recall that an escort had been sent to fetch him. It wasn't as if Al didn't have access to a vehicle, or even that he wouldn't know where he was going.

He was going to the Capitol Building. His presence was apparently required by the Prime Minister.

And he knew damn well where Mustang's offices were. And Mustang knew that.

So the military escort seemed just a little weird. Weird in a way that made his brain return to the concept of being proficient at his work.

Mustang wouldn't have bothered with this fuss unless the fuss itself was the point. He was very publicly summoning Al, interrupting his class, making sure there were multiple witnesses and a production. This pointed to something official, more official than even an assignment or mission. Mustang had full control of the State Alchemists, so it wasn't as if he'd need to justify anything he ordered an alchemist to do to Parliament or the military.

And the lieutenant, though polite, was utterly unhelpful. An immediate audience with the Prime Minister, you will not be returning for the rest of the class, we've notified a replacement, won't you follow me sir? Clearly the officer was used to herding reluctant officials.

Which could mean he was being pulled into a meeting with Hakuro, rather than Mustang.

Then again, why lie? Since Alphonse Elric was a major in the Amestrian military, he supposed Hakuro had nearly as much clout over him as Mustang did. Hakuro might not have had the authority to pull him out of class, but he could order a meeting without making it up.

All this was leading to something happening. Something important.

And if something important was happening, he would expect not to be the only Elric in the car.

Perhaps the escort was to ensure that Ed was unaware? Which was even sillier, considering he'd tell his brother the second he got back to the Academy anyway. Particularly if this pertained to anything important.

Unless it pertained to something important in relation to Ed?

Al glanced back down at the letter, trying to ignore his brain's guessing games.

_I understand if you're busy, I know it's short notice. I should have done something last week, I just thought - I don't know what I thought. That she was fine. That she wasn't old, I guess. I'm worried about her, Al. I'm sorry to just burden you with this all of a sudden. I'm just scared she's not going to get better on her own._

Al pressed his lips together softly. Even if she'd just told him explicitly not to call, what did she expect after that? Pinako was a formidable woman, and she'd passed that on – along with her stubbornness – to Winry. For her to so freely admit to that sort of worry meant that Aunt Pinako was worse than just limping.

It meant the old automail magician was really hurt.

And no matter how watered down her letter to Ed, he was going to pick up on that as well. There was no doubt in his mind nii-san would move heaven and earth to get a housecall down to Pinako. Heck, if Patterson remembered them at all, he'd probably freely volunteer.

But weeks . . . ? Winry, he thought wearily. Why didn't you tell us sooner?

The car was winding down the main drive of the Parliament building, and he glanced at the closing paragraph and its loopy signature briefly before folding the thick cream paper and tucking it back into his vest. He'd left without his coat, since it was still quite warm outside for early fall, but he didn't feel that he was underdressed.

That was what the Prime Minister got, if he looked as if he'd just been whisked off a lecture floor. He had been.

The lieutenant had his door open before the car had even stopped moving, lending a sudden urgency that had previously not been present, and Al wondered exactly what the officer's time table had been. He moved with equal swiftness, stepping out of the car immediately and following the slightly grateful-looking lieutenant up the marble stairs at a fairly quick pace.

They were both pretty tall, and their strides made quick work of the grand entrance hall. A series of double doors lined the far wall, thrown wide to tempt a non-existent breeze into Parliament Hall. There was an active session; at a glance he could see at least half the members were there, though their attitude was a little more casual than all this hurry and secrecy would have implied.

So he was here for something that didn't involve Parliament directly?

In that case, this production had been for the benefit of the military. Or to cover his ass for something he was going to be asked to do later.

"The Drachman party left this morning," the lieutenant offered, nodding his chin towards the hall as they swept past. "I believe all the details from that meeting are currently being disseminated."

Al just nodded.

Aha. The Drachmans.

He'd forgotten about that.

It was hard to keep tabs on everything going on politically, and Al had determined weaseling the details of some of the innermost workings of their government wasn't worth the energy. Nii-san had put the Prime Minister into a pickle, forcing him to lie about the circumstances revolving around the Irvings, and that had unsurprisingly caused all kinds of stir. With the Drachmans popularly believed to be responsible for the attempts on the Prime Minister's life, the fact that one of the attempts had been made up on the spot, with no evidence, just muddled things further.

At this point, there was no guarantee the same group was actually responsible for the pre- and post election attempts. He hadn't discussed any of the recent results with the colonel in quite some time, being too tied up with the Academy, clearing the feedback from the Irvings' crystal, and rebuilding portions of the city destroyed in the Thule Invasion.

But he doubted there was anything new. As far as he knew, there hadn't been an attempt on Roy Mustang's life since . . . well, for at least five months. Perhaps all the investigating had scared the parties responsible underground.

He followed the lieutenant up another flight of stairs, wondering if that lie was the reason he had been swept so unceremoniously out of class mid-lecture. Not that he had any light to shed on Mustang and Ed's lie, considering he hadn't been present for any of it. Which kind of saved his bacon, in a way, because if he'd been confronted immediately after bringing the Tringums back to the hospital, he'd probably have blown it.

The stairs opened onto a wide corridor that marked the beginning of the Prime Minister's wing. Gone were the many symbols of the military, and in their place stood art and documents more culturally based. One thing Bradley hadn't done was significantly cultivate the identity of Amestris, despite its history of acquiring very different peoples in its military conquests. Now there was evidence of the Ishbalans, the Liorians. Fine tapestries hung on the imposing white walls, and cases and short columns proudly displayed pottery and sculptures that had been given to the government by other countries as gifts. A particularly formidable jade dragon from Xing had recently arrived, and Al watched its incredibly spherical eyes seem to follow him as he and his escort hurried past.

Apparently this was not the time for sight-seeing.

The doors to the Prime Minister's conference center were open, and his secretary was seated demurely at her desk. She merely nodded to the lieutenant, who led him immediately to the main office. This was only slightly out of the ordinary; Mustang usually held casual meetings in his office, and more formal ones in the conference room. Considering the production of bringing him here, Al was surprised he was being pulled into the former rather than the latter.

The lieutenant knocked once, then pulled open the door, stepping behind it. Al took the invitation, and was unsurprised to find the room utterly devoid of life. With a quiet click, the door was closed behind him.

This wasn't the first time he'd been deposited in Roy's office only to find Roy himself absent. If possible, Mustang was even busier than he was.

The younger of the Elrics glanced around the large office, noting the round table in its corner, the enormous desk, the many sofas splitting the almost-ballroom into several more cozy areas. Taking his queue from the lack of lieutenant waiting with him, he chose to sit in front of the Prime Minister's desk, gazing idly at the backs of a few pictureframes on his desk.

He knew what they were from previous visits. One of them was Maes Hughes, being a goofball besides a quietly smirking Roy. One of them was of the Hughes family at large, including a bubbling Elysia in her mother's arms. One of them was of Elysia herself, though that one often rotated as Gracia sent him new ones. Al leaned forward, guessing from the size of the frame which would hold that particular picture and grabbing the one on the far left.

Bingo. Elysia was now ten years old, nearly eleven, and had grown from a slightly chubby little girl into a moderately tall and strikingly adorable young lady. Her manners were impeccable, except where Ed was concerned, and she had taken her sudden national fame in stride surprisingly well. Most of the country knew her name, thanks to Mustang's speech during his instatement, and she thrived under the attention.

She also was dangerously skilled with a slingshot, which both the Elrics had painfully discovered the last time they'd visited Gracia. Elysia was quite obviously her father's daughter.

And once she'd realized Edward could transmute his 'automail' into a catapult, the battle had been on. Al wasn't really sure that Elysia knew her father had had a great talent with throwing knives, but if Gracia wasn't careful, she was going to end up pulling flatware out of the walls in a few years.

One of the bookcases opened softly, revealing the concealed door and a rather serious-looking Roy Mustang, and Al hastily got to his feet and replaced the picture on the desk. Mustang's mouth quirked, but he didn't comment.

"At ease, Major."

Al hadn't exactly saluted him, but then again, Mustang didn't exactly care. It was just . . . respectful to take one's feet when one's boss entered the room. He waited until Mustang was behind the desk before retaking his seat, and Roy did the same. He was carrying several folders, which he dropped on the huge desk.

So it wasn't a mission? Or at least it wasn't an official one?

Mustang must have noted his quizzical look. "Obviously you're wondering why you're here." He glanced at the main doors of his offices, as though he was expecting them to open. "Let me start with an apology. I believe I promised you that I wouldn't get in the way of your personal projects."

Al carefully kept his hands relaxed and uncurled on the armrests of his chair, and he mentally patted his intuition on its head. He knew Mustang wouldn't break a promise unless there was a very good reason, but he didn't feel the need to put the Prime Minister more at ease on the subject.

A quick mission wouldn't significantly cut into his restoration time. Which meant this wasn't going to be quick. And with his non-Academy time already split evenly between rebuilding the Thule Invasion damage and clearing the still-lingering feedback Craege Irving's rampage had left, he was falling far behind on his timeline.

Mustang had only given him three years, after all. And one of them was already half gone.

"However, I believe you're uniquely suited for this assignment. I hope it can be completed quickly, but there is a chance that it will take a significant amount of time."

"Are you giving me the option to refuse?" It wasn't like Roy to . . . hesitate. Or preface any order with an apology. It was almost as if he felt he had to justify the assignment.

Al watched him, waiting politely for him to respond, and Mustang's focus seemed to shift. It was hard to know when you had his full attention; half his face was hidden by the patch that also hid the scars he'd acquired in his fight with Pride and subsequent shooting from Frank Archer. The eye that could be seen was usually dark and calm, and it was always looking at you, even when his mind was a thousand miles away.

But there was certainly something about his gaze that hadn't been there before. Surprise, maybe?

Before Al could really identify it the main office door was swept open, a whisper of the wood on thick pile carpeting. He waited until the colonel was only a few strides away before retaking his feet, and Colonel Riza Hawkeye gave him a brief smile and a thick folder.

"Good morning, Alphonse," she greeted smoothly, before turning her attention to the man behind the desk. "My apologies, Prime Minister. There was a . . . slight clearance issue with one of the records."

Clearance issue . . . ? This was sounding more and more militarily-related by the second. Al toyed with the folder's edge a moment as he sat again. If he was to be allowed to refuse, it was likely he could only do so before reading the cover page of the mission brief.

Mustang was nodding, as if Hawkeye's excuse for her tardiness was not unexpected, and the colonel turned on her heels, not to leave the room but to take the seat beside Al.

Something was definitely up.

"How far did you have to go to resolve it?"

Hawkeye smiled slightly, arranging herself both elegantly and formally in the chair beside Al. "Lieutenant Colonel was sufficient."

Mustang absorbed the information, choosing his next words with the same deliberate tone he had used as long as Alphonse had known him. "I see. Alphonse, the answer to your question is no. You have been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel for the duration of the assignment."

Al accepted that without word, glancing down at the thick folder in his hands before flipping open the cover. Better to figure out what he was getting himself into as quickly as possible. The sooner he had the details, the sooner he could complete the mission.

"Contained in the brief are dossiers on six of your fellow State Alchemists."

That was readily obvious from the brief summary page, listing their names in alphabetical order. Breckhart, Elric, Morris, Sorn, Swolls, and Tringum. Somewhat bemused, Al flipped to the second paperclipped report, finding the title 'Full Metal' on the upper right-hand corner.

"What is this?"

"Each faculty and staff member of the Academy was profiled by a team under the orders of General Hakuro." It wasn't a satisfactory answer, and Al looked up sharply. Roy took that as a cue to continue. "It would appear they went over paperwork only – vacation requests, timesheets, research topics. You need only concentrate on the alchemists listed."

"And what am I looking for?" He almost flipped to the back, but caught himself – Roy had said State Alchemists, so the Tringum had to be Russell. Below Edward's stats he found a series of lines, headed with date and timestamps, describing actions, purchases, and in one case, an absence.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Mustang. He just knew that tone.

He was supposed to not like this assignment. Mustang was waiting for a protest.

"Each profile lays out the suspect activity and what the military believes it might have related to. Almost all were opportunities these alchemists had to sell information or secrets to outside influences, in most cases Drachma."

"If all the research has been completed, I assume the military is moving on its own to investigate these opportunities." He was very careful not to substitute the name 'Hakuro' for the phrase 'the military,' though it was understood.

"You assume correctly. Your brother is currently handling triage for those investigations. I need yours to be a little more . . . subtle."

Al leaned back in the chair, letting his chin drop slightly as he started to put the pieces together.

No wonder Mustang thought he was going to protest.

"I don't know if you're yet aware, but Edward's court martial has been given a date."

Al felt the corners of his mouth twitch up. "How convenient."

It really was. In fact, his new 'promotion' was just the icing on the cake. Not only did he now out-rank his brother, Edward had probably been stripped of his military rank in preparation for the upcoming trial. He _couldn't_ order the soldiers out of the Academy, even if he hadn't been asked explicitly not to. Which he obviously had, if Mustang could so calmly say that nii-san was 'running triage.'

That was why he'd been brought before the Prime Minister in the manner he had.

That was why he was uniquely suited for the assignment.

The alchemists, including the suspected ones, would know by now that Alphonse Elric had been pulled out of the Academy by the military. The same military that promoted him above his brother even as they stripped Edward of his own rank.

The same military that, as every State Alchemist knew, the Elric brothers weren't particularly fond of.

It would look like a painfully obvious effort on Hakuro's part to buy Alphonse's favor while attempting to discredit Edward, which had been Hakuro's position since the Elrics had returned to Amestris. While Hakuro and his soldiers might be fooled, the alchemists would know such a pathetic gesture would only serve to make Al . . . well, angry. Would make Alphonse Elric even less likely to do as Hakuro 'asked' than he would have otherwise been.

In which case, Alphonse Elric might be a rather good friend to make.

There was no doubt everyone on the list had done something suspicious. And there was no guarantee that it hadn't been illegal. But he, like Mustang, couldn't believe one of them could be behind assassination attempts. He interacted with all the alchemists listed on a weekly basis, some daily. Ed was on the list simply to shed more suspicion on him. Al was certain of that. He hadn't read enough of the reports to know why everyone else was on the list, but honestly . . . Tringum? Breckhart?

They would know they were under scrutiny. Hakuro wouldn't be subtle about it, not when he could rub in their faces that the Prime Minister couldn't protect them. Discrediting Edward Elric lowered that protection further. They would assume Hakuro promoted Al to make him less appealing as an ally, not more. Therefore, if they had done something illegal, they were likely to approach him and ask for assistance.

After all, Alphonse was very approachable. And usually had clever ideas when it came to getting out of tight spots. So long as he behaved in a way that let the other alchemists know he might be sympathetic to their plight, they might drop him hints that would enable him to figure out what they had done and at least absolve them of ties to Drachma.

And, since this was likely not exactly an 'official' mission, Mustang probably didn't want to know. He just wanted them cleared of treason, not punished for whatever suspect thing they'd done to get them on the list in the first place.

All he had to do was figure out what they'd done to get on the list.

Of course, there was always the possibility that one of them really was selling information to Drachma. Or that they wouldn't be bright enough to make the assumptions Roy was counting on them to make. In that case, or the case that they had military ties and it was revealed to them that Hakuro had nothing to do with Al's promotion, they would realize the truth. That Mustang was conducting his own investigation.

And that would make him a target.

Which also played into Mustang's hands, because he knew damn well that Al was an excellent alchemist and hand to hand fighter. He could take care of himself. And his method of transmuting, and favorite transmutations, were not nearly as lethal as the Prime Minister's own.

So if he was attacked, he was more likely to capture his attacker alive. In which case that attacker could be interrogated.

It was a win-win situation. For Mustang.

Beside Al, Riza shifted. "If you'd like, I can assign you some staff-"

Al just shook his head. "That's not necessary, colonel, but thank you." No, if he was going to be bait, he wasn't going to endanger anyone else. There was always the chance that their enemy was bright enough to know Al was working for Mustang directly, and rather than attack him, just leave him alone. Or worse, lead him on, pretending to need his help hiding some harmless illegal activity. He was in very real danger, if any of these alchemists were actually guilty.

"Do you understand your assignment?"

Al glanced over at Mustang, not surprised to see the same intense gaze he had before. It occurred to him, suddenly, that Roy was having as hard a time reading him as he was having reading the other man.

Good, he thought a little smugly. He kept it out of his voice, though, when he replied. "I do. I assume you don't want me calling the offices with my findings?"

Mustang looked pleased. "Hawkeye will have a private line set up. I trust your judgment."

Al nodded. "Do any of these tie back to the uranium bomb?" Hakuro could always use this as excuse to more completely investigate what he'd always thought had been Mustang's interference with the bomb test, and it would explain why Russell was on the list -

Roy shook his head. "Tringum's in there for some else."

Alphonse glanced at the dossier a moment, then realized he could read it without wasting Mustang's time. "Assuming I find something serious?"

"Report it to me or the colonel immediately." The response was crisp and quick; Mustang had been expecting that question. "Don't take action outside of self-defense."

Don't take on the enemy. Leave that for someone else.

Setting him up and trying to protect him at the same time. The same thing Mustang did with all his subordinates. The same contradiction.

One of these days, that tactic was going to fail catastrophically.

Al nodded, standing even as the colonel and Prime Minister also rose, signaling the end of the meeting.

"It goes without saying, but please keep your brother as uninvolved as possible."

Al just nodded. It was likely he was on the list because of the lengths he'd had to go to to hide the fact that his automail was really just hollow armor, which meant Mustang didn't seriously consider him a threat. But even so, Ed was the sort of person to take very vocal offense when he disagreed with something. And in this case, vocal offense wasn't likely to help.

A small thought tugged at his consciousness, begging for attention, and Al half-turned as the three walked towards the main doors. "You said Hakuro conducted investigations on the entire staff of the Academy, including the students. Did he investigate anyone else?"

Hawkeye smiled thinly. "He did. It's important that you speak only with me or the Prime Minister regarding this assignment."

Al felt his eyebrows raising. Surely she wasn't saying what he thought she was-

"I have my own list." She pulled open the door, ending further discussion, but her meaning was clear.

He was not to mention this to anyone. Not even Mustang's staff.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I know, I promised explosions. But, alas, the plot got in the way, and I've been sitting on this for a week trying to think of how to get to the next scene, and all that resulted in was a long delay in updating the fic. So, it's short, and there are no explosions, but just you WAIT until the next chapter. All kinds of action! Gunfire! Doom! Destruction!

. . . okay. Just gunfire. ; ) As per usual, posted without a beta, and I've gone through looking for mistakes and found a couple, so it should be pretty clean. I hope to post a couple chapters today, but we'll see. It'll pick up eventually! It has no choice, at this point . . .


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He didn't bother to look up as the door swung open. He already knew who it was.

After all, only one person entered his office without knocking. And did it with that slow, deliberate turning of the knob and equally gentle push, giving him time to hide whatever he had to hide before the door fully opened.

It also helped he'd put his desk on the side of the room behind the door, so one had to enter the room fully in order to see him.

"What happened?" It was common knowledge that Al had been unceremoniously removed from class by a military officer. What remained to be learned was whether it was in relation to the investigations, the court-martial, or something else entirely.

Alphonse Elric snorted, shoving the door closed with his elbow. "Hello to you too."

Well, either it was nothing major, or Al didn't want to talk about it. Ed watched his younger brother casually slip his hands in his pockets, casting a glance around the office as if he expected someone else to be there.

"Well?"

"I'm kinda surprised they didn't put a guard on you," his brother finally observed. "When's the court-martial?"

Edward growled, starting to gather his paperwork together. The rest of this could wait until morning. "End of the month. Just long enough for the military to get its grubby little hands into everything. And don't change the subject."

Al frowned at him as he dumped a large pile of papers, unsorted, into a single binder. "Nii-san, that goldenrod form on top needs to-"

"Do you remember the time when we didn't know what fucking color the ten different carbon copies were called?" he interrupted, before the lecture could continue. "I used to think the bastard was just being lazy, but this stuff is dangerous."

He got a raised eyebrow for his efforts. "Now who's changing the subject."

"So it was about the court-martial." That was the only thing that really made sense. Pulling him so publicly out of class was probably just a scare tactic. Not that Al would have had anything to say on the subject. At least nothing Hakuro would want aired in the court-martial, at any rate.

"He really does have you, you know." Al winced as the binder was dropped unceremoniously to the ground beside the desk, on top of one just like it. "So this is how you keep your desk so clean."

Ed just shrugged, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. It was still too warm to wear it at the moment, but he'd need it as soon as the sun set. "Outside of pissing me off, I don't really see the point. I never joined another military, so the worst they can prove is AWOL. And since I was acting to protect the soldiers that entered Lior-"

Not that he really had managed to.

" – it isn't as if I'll get more than a slap on the wrist."

Al hadn't missed the catch in his voice. "You said he didn't care that you admitted to using the Lior Stone-"

And he hadn't, at least that night in the hospital. The night Hakuro had surprised him by asking him to lie in a debrief to keep Mustang's name as far away from a possible Stone as could be. He might still think that one of them had transmuted that Stone, rather than Scar, but at this point, unless one of them confessed, it wouldn't fly.

On his less grumpy days, he could see that Hakuro had a logical reason to want to pursue the matter. The general wasn't really aware that the Fuhrer had been a Homunculus. He knew the higher-ups were admitting to Homunculi existing in general, but there was nothing in the official records relating to Dante, Pride, or the fact that Sloth was really –

Was really their sin.

Though he really wasn't sure whether or not Hakuro had made that leap, considering he probably had researched at some point, or at least read in a report, how a Homunculus was created. And since he had also, that night in the hospital, revealed that he knew Ed and Al had tried human transmutation when they were kids –

Then again, he might not have tried to figure out who else the Elrics might have been trying to transmute besides Al.

And even if not, he didn't really have any reason to trust that Scar had died to create the Stone. Then again, he didn't have any real reason to doubt that Scar had done it, either. But the truth would put his worries to rest. Over seven thousand soldiers died that day, and nearly all their relatives and loved ones still had no answer to the question why.

And unless Mustang changed his policy on that truth, and revealed what actually transpired those many years ago, they never would.

Ed shoved the thoughts aside, moving around his desk towards the door. "I don't know what he's up to. Hakuro might just be using it as an excuse to keep me out of the way while he puts on his dog and pony show." And he wasn't likely to figure it out until after it was said and done anyway. No use dwelling. "What did he ask you?"

Al shrugged, opening the door as Edward came around him. "The usual." They'd solidified their story of events after Mustang's inauguration, when they realized they'd have to repeat it over and over again to the attending alchemists - and physicists – in the Academy. "You off to shift?"

Ed nodded, stepping into the hallway and hearing the reassuring click of the door as Al followed. "You'll never guess which grid."

They'd split the city into grids to organize the efforts, and due to the knowledge they'd gained regarding the feedback and amount of fighting that had been done in each area, they'd gotten it down to . . . well, to a science. How long an alchemist could stay, how much feedback they could absorb a week, the symptoms of sickness, even treatments.

Though Ed privately suspected that was just a ploy by Patterson to give more checkups and get more vitamins into the alchemists. His hair had never been softer or thicker, and he really doubted radiation was to thank for it.

"Surprise me."

Ed fished a well-worn, folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket. "Twenty-seven."

Twenty-seven was not a grid Ed thought he'd ever find himself anywhere near again. It had been the scene of some of the heaviest fighting, and some of the worst destruction, but given its location, that was hardly surprising.

After all, alchemic amplifiers worked by proximity. While the incomplete Stone that lay in the collapsed ruins of Laboratory 5 was doubtlessly very deep in the earth, it was likely it had reacted to use of the amplifier above it, increasing the power available to the National Alchemists and Irving both.

They'd certain torn the shit out of half a block of it, at any rate.

Al clucked his tongue. "Are you sure that's not a clerical error?"

Ed took the offered piece of paper back, tucking it back into his pocket. "Don't know. Should be interesting, at any rate."

Al gave him a reproachful look. "Nii-san, you're not thinking of-"

Digging up some incomplete Stone? Just to have, lying around? Some spot behind his lungs twinged, a halting and weak echo of ache he'd never forget. It could hardly be called pain though; it was more the faint ghost of nausea a person felt when they'd gotten sick off hard liquor a few days before and someone mentioned the heady aroma of gin.

Ed swallowed. That was really too good of a comparison, actually. Time to think about something other than gin –

"No." No, he was done with amplifiers, at least the alchemic kind. He'd nearly died. He'd lost control of a large reaction, for the first time in his life, because of the damage he'd suffered from it. And he was pretty sure he simply wasn't as . . . skilled wasn't the right word. He didn't have the same capacity to channel alchemic energy anymore. He felt it, now, every time he transmuted.

It was a wound. He'd damaged something inside, and it wasn't healed. Maybe never would be.

He hadn't pushed it, either, not since that night. Five months ago, and he could still feel it.

Ed sometimes wondered if Mustang felt the same way. Or Armstrong.

He didn't dare ask them.

He was afraid they would say yes.

Edward felt his brother looking at him, but he didn't meet his eyes. "I think it's better to leave that buried."

Al was quiet as they exited the main building, both walking toward the small faculty parking lot. Generally speaking, they were not on shift the same nights, not because of their other obligations, but because someone had gone down the list of certified alchemists and split them into four shifts. Since their names had been side by side, they obviously weren't on the same teams.

But it worked out. One could drop the other one off, and that way whoever was working got to come home to dinner already made, or at the very least they didn't fight over the shower.

"Want me to come with?"

Ed shook his head, slipping into the passenger side of the car. "It'll be fine, Al."

The car rumbled to life, pulling smoothly out of the parking space, and Al guided it down the winding drive. "Anything interesting happen while I was gone? Did my class riot?"

Ed silently thanked him for the distraction. "No. Milo was pulled in to take over, and apparently butchered the notes. You'll probably need to give them a review next week." Then he frowned. "And they're not the only ones that'll need one."

He caught Al glancing at him again, and he sighed. "Sorn skipped class again. If I find him working outside of his assigned shifts, I'm going to kick his ass."

He was such an overachiever. Certified at fourteen, too. Franklin was a genius, but being a genius didn't excuse you from class. After all, he didn't have to put up with a commanding officer like Colonel Bastard had been. Ed himself hadn't been excused from missions just because he was brilliant. This little shit wasn't going to get any more leeway than he'd gotten.

"You know, not everyone bonds by beating on the other," his brother observed, with a definite hint of amusement.

"Who needs to bond?" Not that the kid wanted to. He wanted them to tell him how to make a Stone, that was certain, but after their initial conversation during Mustang's inauguration, he hadn't seen any evidence that the boy was trying to buddy up to Al any further. "And honestly, he's the least of my worries. At least when he skips class, I can be sure he's not determining the easiest method to freeze the city sewer system."

He heard his brother snigger, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. The fact that Midgail had admitted so straight-faced that he was trying to do just that, as a method of domestic warfare –

As if the military was interested in a device that would cause all the commodes in a ten block radius to back up. Even though it would so obviously cause panic in the streets.

"Did he succeed?"

Ed chuckled. "He did, actually. He found a combination of chemicals that start an endothermic reaction when combined with sodium. Basically reduces all water in the area to ice. He even gave a demonstration in class. Just touched the solution with his bare finger, and it turned to an ice cube almost instantly."

He found it interesting that all the alchemists in the room had found the reaction cool. As if they couldn't also turn water to ice with a touch. But they had to introduce alchemic energy, whereas this used the energy of heat around it. The alchemists had the same reaction physicists had when they witnessed transmutations.

Both sides of the equation, alchemy and physics, had something to bring to the table. He was glad things were really getting into swing in the Academy. So long as Hakuro didn't interfere too terribly-

But who could blame him, when one of the results of this expensive educational process was a system to freeze commode pipes everywhere.

It didn't take them long to circle around the library, and Laboratory Five, or what was left of it, was just behind, cattycorner from the prison. Which was, somewhat terrifyingly, still in use despite the damage that had been done to it. He wasn't really sure all the inmates that had escaped during the fighting five months ago had been recaptured.

The government had had other things on its mind.

"Thanks for the lift."

Al nodded, giving him a slightly measuring look. "Sure you don't want me to stick around?"

He sighed. "See you later, Al."

"Need a ride home?"

Edward shook his head, closing the door and speaking through the open window. "I'll catch a ride with the relief."

It wasn't long until Al had pulled away, leaving Edward Elric standing on some cracked pavement beside gray, dusty buildings and gritty memories. The previous crews had done a good job; unless he really paid attention, he couldn't detect the faint tingling on his skin, the only physical indication of the radiation.

Of course, being slightly more talented than the average alchemist, he knew that didn't mean the area was decontaminated.

He clapped his hands and knelt, causing a fifteen-foot high column to shoot out of the ground. He didn't really need to elevate the entire thing to ground level; he could already feel that the materials weren't resisting him.

So the first crew had dug down far enough. At least on this spot.

He spent the next half-hour covering the half-block in a grid of his own, taking 'samples' of the ground to determine where the highest concentration of still-contaminated matter could be found. Every last one caused his chest to twinge, that same reminder of what he would feel if it he overdid it.

And none of them seemed easier than they should be. If there was any Red Stone, it was buried quite deeply indeed. Or he wasn't committing to large enough transmutations to detect it.

And none of them gave him any more indication than the first one had that there was any remaining feedback to transmute out of the rock. He made a mental note to figure out who was on the team before him and commend them for their thoroughness. They'd done a fantastic job.

He'd covered half his grid, and was almost getting bored, when his next column came up five feet short.

Edward didn't feel any resistance in the materials, either. In fact, it felt as though there weren't enough materials to transmute the usual fifteen feet of earth, and that was silly. Because of course there was enough material to transmute fifteen feet of earth. He was using the _earth._

Curious, he clapped his hands, attempting to rearrange all the concrete particles ever so slightly. The act of touching them all would give him a mental 'picture' of the structure of the ground beneath him, and –

And some of it was missing.

Edward remained there in a half-crouch, debating his options. If some of it was missing, that meant there was a space beneath him. It could be anything. The street hadn't settled despite the lab's collapse, perhaps? One of the rooms had remained intact? It was part of a tunnel between the laboratory and the prison?

If that was true, it wasn't on the schematics. And could theoretically be used by the prisoners to escape.

Not that any of them had utilized it, that he knew of. Then again, maybe this was where the missing prisoners had escaped to . . .

That thought sobered him considerably. If they'd somehow become trapped in that tunnel for five months –

Then there'd be nothing left but corpses. Even if they'd turned on one another for food.

Ed felt another uncomfortable roiling in his gut, and he grimaced, staring over the prison at the orange cast to the sky. The sun had already started to set. If there were going to be bodies to recover, it would be easier to get the proper equipment set up in the light of day.

Of course, he could confirm that, so at least they could start first thing in the morning . . .

Making a face, Edward clapped his hands together once more, transmuting a neat stairway directly into the side of the tunnel. He added on a skylight a few feet down, just to give him some light, and waited for his chest to start hurting.

It didn't. Nor did a blast of tingling radiation come up at him.

He stood, taking the stairs slowly, but the rock had been transmuted solidly, and had not been terribly difficult to mold. Because of the angle of the setting sun, his skylight wasn't helping matters much, and Ed risked another transmutation, sucking all the phosphorus to the surface of the walls. It gave them a yellow, waxy appearance, and very soon began to glow a faint green.

They illuminated a perfectly cut square hallway that went beyond what little light he'd managed to create.

The air seemed stale but breathable, and his transmutations had briefly made it smell of dirt. Ed glanced down the hallway in both directions. There were no electric lights on the ceiling, nor places to hang lanterns or torches. No pipes, and the floor was rock, not concrete. No vents, either. The fact that it was as wide as it was tall was a little weird, too. He'd never seen a corridor like it.

Edward took a tentative step forward, towards his skylight, and as his footsteps echoed unevenly on the stone, he realized something else.

It was stone, not concrete, but there were no seams. The rock hadn't been laid. It was all a single piece.

And that was impossible. The only way to get such a complete piece of stone was either in a mine shaft in a mountain, or through transmutation. Central was just broken up rock thrown on top of the city that had fallen beneath it, so he was certain he was not walking through a limestone shelf.

This wasn't built to ferry prisoners to laboratory five.

It was built for another reason.

Edward continued down the corridor, moving to his north, away from the prison. Periodically he brought more phosphorus to the surface, lighting his way with its eerie green glow. He would be in deep shit if someone followed him down that stairway with a torch, but so long as he was careful he doubted he'd gathered enough to spontaneously combust.

Then again, it was eating oxygen for that reaction, and there weren't vents –

Regretfully he brought his hands together, transmuting himself another skylight. Dim, reflected sunset poured down the wide shaft, almost dazzling in comparison to the glow of the phosphorus. So when he saw the glint, he assumed it was just visual purple.

A few blinks failed to remove the fragment, and with the stirring of the air his transmutation had caused, he caught a scent-

It wasn't just one glint. It was a pair, close together, a bright yellow.

Eyes.

Edward took a step back, preparing to transmute a staff, but the eyes never moved. Never flickered. Just watched him, soundlessly.

" . . . easy . . ." Not that he'd expect a possum or a raccoon to answer, but what sort of creature could it be? Did moles have eyes as big as a human's?

. . the tunnel did lead directly to Laboratory Five. And there was no telling what Shou Tucker might have left down there.

He took a deep breath, but the eyes didn't so much as flicker. If he wasn't careful, they were going to disappear, and it was far too dim in the tunnel to make out that distant shape –

Ed clapped his hands again, and opened a skylight right above it.

His depth perception was a little off. The square of light opened just on its head, laying flat against the floor between two enormous paws. Grotesque, misshapen fangs hung visible beneath curled lips, and the rat-like nose was turned upwards. The light fell on brown-gray fur, a veritable mane of it, and hinted at the huge bulk behind what was visible.

A chimera.

It had apparently been sleeping. And he'd just woken it up.

The reek of death came to him more strongly, and Edward hardly dared to breathe. The thing was _huge_. It was easily going to be five feet standing, from ground to shoulder. He wasn't even sure what had been transmuted together, only that if it was indeed preparing to pounce, it could probably cover the distance faster than he could get back to the stairs –

Yet it didn't growl. Teeth were exposed in a silent threat, but that was it.

Unsure, Edward took a cautious step forward.

Nothing.

Edward waited a moment. "Stay?"

It didn't respond at all to the sound of his voice, echoing weirdly in the tunnel. The square shape of the corridor, his brain supplied. It made the sounds reflect unfamiliarly.

He took another step. And another.

The stench of decay was getting stronger.

"Are you dead?" Not that he expected an answer to that, either, but even if the chimera had died, it had been recently. Its eyes were still round and open, not wrinkled and dehydrated, and the visible gums were still a very pale pink.

Or maybe that was just the setting sunlight.

Slightly emboldened, Edward continued to approach, until he was within a few yards of the beast. He heard no breathing but his own quick, shallow inhalations, saw no motion but the tips of the fur twitching slightly in the wind tunnel his skylights had created.

When had it been transmuted? Who would have done it? Had it been living down here all these months, having escaped the laboratory? But what could it have been eating all this time . . .?

Edward transmuted a spear, and even with alchemic energy crackling so near it, the eyes never wavered. They were large, and brown tinged with an odd green. This close, he was certain a rat was involved, and judging by the paws, a large dog or wolf, but what had given it such a great mass . . .?

Still cautious, Edward gave the chimera a poke with the lance, slightly cutting the upturned nose. The head shifted just enough that the eyes were no longer catching the light the same way, but that was all. When he withdrew the tip of the spear, it was smeared with blood, but little to none dripped from the wound.

So it was dead.

Edward approached closer still, holding his breath against the stink of decay. Obviously this dead beast wasn't causing that smell; it wasn't bloated enough. Whatever it had last been eating was the more likely culprit, and that was probably just behind it.

But what could it have been eating? Prisoners? Had there been so many chimera and human sacrifices in Laboratory Five that there would be a plentiful enough food source for them all? Something this massive could easily eat a human being a day.

There was no way this chimera was from Tucker's time in the laboratory. This poor bastard had been transmuted much more recently.

The question was why. And by whom.

Who would want to transmute chimeras of this size? Who could? Tucker had had great success, but he'd also had access to the incomplete Stone-

Which, incidentally, was probably the substance this mining tunnel had been designed to extract.

Edward took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn't. It didn't help to clear his head, and it didn't change the conclusion he'd made.

Someone had mined the incomplete Stone, using the restoration work as their cover. And then they'd tested it, to see exactly what it could do.

Whoever had done this had also gotten rid of the dangerous feedback. That was why they'd done such a bang-up job. They had to go fifteen feet underground because that was where the incomplete Stone was.

All he had to do was look on the duty roster to figure out who was responsible for this.

Edward peered past the huge corpse, but it really was impossible to see what was causing the stench. He wasn't sure how far he'd traveled underground at this point, so opening yet another skylight so close to this one was probably not a great idea. Edward was in the process of pulling more phosphorus together when he heard an odd scrabbling noise, almost like distant pebbles rolling downhill in a coffee can.

And then he realized where it was coming from.

The chimera's left paw _moved._

Edward let out a very undignified yelp, leaping backwards as that paw raced towards him. He was already in flight by the time he realized the brown fur shooting for him wasn't the paw, it was something that had been beneath it –

A rat. A big fat rat.

But his transmutation had completed, and the green glow showed him the size of the great chimera. And behind it.

Bodies met his gaze, in various states of rot, most with meat still clinging to their bones. Some were obviously birdlike, their pale skulls offering huge gaping holes where eyes had once been. Others had long faces, a little like bovines, and there was obviously another like the one he'd first seen.

It was too late to stop the retreat, and Edward curled into a ball, letting his momentum roll him over onto his feet, spear still in hand –

And the metal tip lightly brushed the wall of the corridor.

Edward didn't even have enough time to duck his head. The metal scraped the exposed phosphorus just like one would strike a matchhead, and the ensuing reaction spewed pillars of flame out of the skylights, climbing fifteen feet into the air.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Okay, so no gunfire! I am such a liar! I felt so bad about leaving out the promised explosion in the last chapter that I felt compelled to add it. (That and the lovely JChrys totally ragged me for it ; ) So now you know why it wasn't in the last chapter – way too long! It takes me for freakin' ever to get to anything. So consider this a continuation of the last chapter, rather than a chapter of its own, and in that case, HAH! I kept my promise! You got your explosions, and next chapter will have gunfire.

Really!

Would I lie to you?

(On purpose?)

Not beta'ed, but read through. I think it should be safe. As always, if you see anything amiss, let me know! I think I'll clean them all up properly all at the same time, and then they will be FINISHED! In . . . twentychaptersatleast . . .


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Al hated lying to Ed.

He wasn't really sure why; his older brother had lied to him as long as he could remember. He cheated during races, cheated during chores, cheated during games – particularly card games – and generally would say innocent things like "I'm going for a walk" when he meant "I'm going to hunt down Scar and get my automail destroyed, back in a jiffy!"

Maybe it because Ed, almost universally, didn't catch him at it.

And maybe that pissed him off, just a little. What, he was so honest, all the time, that no one could believe he'd lie to them? Was he some sort of poor wandering innocent that couldn't fathom how the occasional fiction would work to his advantage?

But then, if they did suspect him more, he'd probably get away with it less often. And he didn't do it that frequently, and in this case he was forbidden by the leader of the country to spill the secret if he did get caught, so he supposed he probably should just be grateful.

But he hated it just the same.

Al swung the vehicle into Division Circle, following the large circular drive with its centerpiece of bronzed children at play. The statues were interspersed throughout a fountain that had been there probably as long as Central had, though its current metallic residents were much newer.

It had been added sometime in the years they'd been absent, possibly the same day he'd been certified posthumously. A memorial to the children that had died during the Thule Invasion.

As always, his gaze was drawn to the statue forever clambering over the lip of the main pool, clutching her worn teddy bear by one stuffing-less arm and accidentally bonking its wide-eyed face against the stone in her excitement.

With a little shake of his head, Al dropped his eyes to the steering wheel, upon which he was holding the coverpage of the report he'd been issued.

Where to start . . .

Well, he'd have to do some research on Breckhart. As soon as he'd gotten back to the academy, he'd gone to find Ed, so he hadn't had time to look anyone's address up. He knew where his brother lived, obviously, but he also knew why every suspect activity was listed and what it had been. Two sudden disappearances during official meet-and-greets, one due to barely contained rage and the other having something to do with his stomach. One visit to Resembool that wasn't reported on his expenditures, which was undoubtedly related to his 'automail.' Large chunks of his funds disappearing at regular intervals –

Okay. He had to admit, he had no idea what nii-san was spending his money on. Since he was doing his own research, currently in airships, Al could only guess it was for that. And he was sure Edward would hide that from him. If he got wind of a zeppelin in the works, he'd obviously tell Winry, who would come back to Central and never let him hear the end of it.

Of course, nii-san was probably constructing a plane, but that wasn't the point.

Al consulted the list again, guiding the car in a wide circle. He really wasn't sure where he was going yet, and technically he could just circle the plaza all night if he wanted . . . so, next on the list was Morris. He was pretty sure Morris was still living in the dorms, which would make him both easier and harder to track down. Visiting a residence wouldn't seem too out of the realm of possibility, but lots of people would see him if he visited the dorm. So . . . he'd have to use that to his advantage. Wait until Morris indicated in the Academy that he'd been singled out by the military.

Sorn's residence he knew; they'd made it a point when they'd heard he had no family in the city. Of course, they'd lived alone at that age, and the four years previous, but they'd had some money left from Hohenheim, and Aunt Pinako besides. Then the military had taken care of them. The fact that Sorn did _not_ live in the dorms sort of indicated he also had some kind of nest egg, though he was apparently much less afraid of spending it than he and nii-san had been.

Of course, Franklin was brilliant, and arrogant to boot, so it wasn't surprising that he wouldn't be thinking of his future. He could do anything he wanted. Hell, he could go down to Resembool and let Winry use him as her next automail-forming alchemist, assuming Fletcher didn't get jealous. As such, he owned a modest but sizable home just off Treewell with his own sunroom and likely a proper laboratory inside.

Swolls was an alchemist he didn't know that well. Darr was fairly quiet, and appeared to have a bit of Ishbal blood in him; his eyes were a very reddish brown, almost like mesa clay, and he was usually pretty tanned. His name also gave away his lineage, though his mother had married into a bloodline that might as well have been in Central since before the fall of the city beneath it. There was no telling which section of the city he'd choose to live in. As a certified National Alchemist, he had plenty of funds, but might deign to live near the people his mother named him after.

Or he might hate their guts. Al didn't have any classes with the thirty-something alchemist, and didn't even know if the man was married or not. He'd have to wait till tomorrow as well.

That left him Tringum. And since he'd helped them move in, only a couple blocks from their own home, he was pretty sure he knew where they lived.

He also knew where both of them were, and had a dinner date with them in less than a week. He also knew for a fact that Russ was not plotting to overthrow Mustang.

What he didn't know was where Russell was getting all the money that had been reported in his dossier. Unless that was Fletcher's income from helping Winry under the table, which he highly doubted. The Tringums had separate accounts, since Russell's was provided by the State. Fletcher had still not sat for the State Alchemy exam, and apparently had no desire to. He was the only exception to the 'only Nationally Certified Alchemists can attend the Academy' rule, thought Mustang hadn't really put up much of a fuss when Ed had insisted on it.

Al privately suspected that Mustang liked the Tringums very much. Russ could be abrasive and arrogant at times, but Fletcher was pretty much a walking column of amiability. It was impossible not to like the younger of the Tringums.

Which made it all the sadder when their apartment – not only the lab, but the entire building – had been brought down around their ears.

They'd taken the loss of their research pretty hard. When the apartment had fallen, weeks of work – and irreplaceable Red Water – had been destroyed. They were still researching alchemic amplifiers, but had taken a turn and followed a weaker lead they'd found long ago, when they'd been studying plants as a means to concentrate Red Water. And technically, there was nothing wrong with the amplifier their father Nash had concocted, at least not until it was mixed with a crystallizing powder that rendered it unable to be modified by alchemic energy . . .

And god only knew where Johann Irving had gotten that stuff. Nii-san's original – and chilling – assumption that it had come from the Gate itself was probably more likely than either wanted to admit.

And either way, Nash's formula was still incredibly unstable. He wasn't sure what the brothers were doing with it, but he figured it would be a topic of conversation at the table, so it stood to reason any investigation into them could be put off for a few days.

As if Russell would be selling information for cash. He was a National Alchemist! Al snorted, taking his third trip around the circle before exiting on Cobalt. The only address he knew was Sorn's, and at least he had a good reason for dropping in.

It took a lot of courage to skip nii-san's classes. It really wasn't good for one's health.

Al took Cobalt to Treewell, turning left after traffic had passed, and looked over the homes there. It was a residential area, and had mercifully been spared both during the Irvings' visit and the Thule Invasion. It was one of the few mid-aged residential areas left in the city, and its architecture reminded Al very much of how Central had looked when he and Edward had first arrived by train, wide-eyed and not at all prepared for what they were about to get themselves into.

He was rather disappointed to see an empty driveway laying across the well-kept lawn of number 812. He knew Franklin had a car; most of the city did too. It was the only one like it in all of Central, and every bolt and shred of rubber tire had been transmuted by the Mechanical Alchemist himself. Which was probably why he was allowed to drive it.

That and it ran on water, so it couldn't technically even be taxed, let alone regulated. He legally didn't need a license to operate it.

And wherever he was, he was not at home.

So much for being sick.

Al pulled smoothly into the driveway, putting the car into reverse before reconsidering. Franklin's report showed several suspect incidents, including repeated absences from Academy classes, two hospital visits that had apparently not been reported, and money sliding into and out of his account frequently and in large sums. Al would bet half a year's wages that the absences had to do with radiation sickness, and the hospital visits hadn't been reported because he didn't want anyone to know he was working double-time on the feedbacking areas. The money was . . . possibly the reason he owned a house at fifteen. Possibly illegal, even possibly transmuting gold, but it was unlikely the focused, do-gooding fifteen year old was attempting to overthrow the government.

Still, if he was transmuting gold, he was probably doing it in the privacy of his own house, and it would be easy enough to confirm. Particularly if the young alchemist wasn't home to hide it.

Al backed the car out of the driveway, taking it back towards Cobalt. Three houses up, 809, was a fairly large estate, and it wouldn't look amiss to have a Parliament car parked in front of it. Sorn – and any other passing traffic – wouldn't think anything of it.

Al determined entering through the back would be best, and nonchalantly walked back to 812, taking the walkway around the back of the pleasant brick home. The sunroom took up almost half the same footprint as the house, and was crammed full of ferns and other humidity-loving plants.

The Tringums would probably love it. He wondered idly if they'd ever taken up with Sorn, considering they'd all certified at young ages.

Some, of course, younger than others.

Wary of a Pinako-like housekeeper despite the lack of other automobiles, Al knocked politely on the whitewashed back door. The curtains were drawn, hiding the room behind, but his cocked ear heard no footsteps, no shifting of the floors. Al tried a little louder, but the response was the same.

Looked like no one was home.

The door was locked with alchemy, of course, so he simply transmuted a new one out of the siding and brick. He did it neatly, and was sure to put the brick – and the mortar – back in its original pattern. No sense in leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house. If he needed to make a run for it later, he could always just transmute it again.

It wasn't his first time breaking and entering, but it was the first time he wanted to hide his tracks. It felt . . . not as weird as it should have.

Nii-san's bad habits had rubbed off on him.

Al found himself in a large and sparklingly clean kitchen. So clean, in fact, he wasn't sure it wasn't a laboratory. He stepped almost gingerly over the white-tiled floor and ran an admiring finger over the green-mottled granite countertops The sink was double and deep, some kind of stainless steel, and the refrigerator was large enough to store cadavers.

Not that he thought Franklin was, but he opened it anyway. Just to see what current fifteen year old geniuses ate for dinner.

Then he wrinkled his nose. They ate the same things past fifteen year old geniuses ate for dinner. Only this genius didn't believe in eating leftovers _or_ throwing them out. There was dead stew in an earthenware bowl that appeared to be older than Franklin was.

Then again, he didn't really remember having to take care of too many leftovers with nii-san. Any, actually . . .

The cabinets yielded things cabinets usually contained – non-matching dishware, glasses, mugs, dried goods. No gold. Al ducked his head into a hallway that seemed to stretch the length of the house, with closed doors on either side of the hall. He shrugged, then chose right.

The first door on the right turned out to be the library, which was a huge room stuffed with very inviting-looking texts, but unfortunately as far from the driveway as he could get. Getting settled in here would be dangerous; Franklin could march right up to the front door and he'd have no idea until the key turned in the lock.

But oh, the shelf nearest him contained what appeared to be first edition copies of _Transcendental Alchemy_, _Basice Alchemie For the Seriouse Pupil_, and oh, _Geometrics of Molecular Design In Nature._ All classics, they'd first found them in Tucker's library and easily a quarter of the questions on the written exam had come directly or indirectly from them –

Smiling, he withdrew another familiar yellowed text. _Beginner's Guide to Alchemy_. Sitting next to the other, far more complex books, it was so out of place . . . maybe it meant as much to Franklin as it did to them. The beginning of a road that had taken them . . . well, farther than they'd ever imagined possible.

Maybe the emotionless kid was a little sentimental after all.

Al shook his head, replacing the text but not before noting the deep creases worn into the spine. It had had some serious use at some point. Just as their copy had.

Regretfully, he turned from the bookshelf, taking in the room at large. An enormous desk, nearly trembling beneath the weight of all the notes and reams of paper crouching upon it, was stationed near the largest window, facing west. Good place to get evening light. A very comfortable looking green velvet chair was barely visible over the massive piles of paper, and beside that sat an enormous steamer chest.

It was the chest that attracted his attention, and he headed for it immediately. It, too, was locked with alchemy, and he transmuted a small hole in the center of the lid.

He did not catch sight of anything gold. It appeared to be filled with just as many notes as the desk was.

Or the papers were just stacked over the gold.

Al glanced around, then found a pen on the desk. Picked it up, he poked it into the hole, rearranging some of the top notes. More notes, and a red-bound book swam into view.

Nope. This was probably Franklin's private research. Why he kept it in a steamer trunk, though . . . he'd owned the house for over a year. Had he spent most of his time before that traveling extensively? There were far better containers for such things.

Bookshelves, for example.

Al frowned and repaired the hole, glancing around from his new vantage point of the center of the room. The desk really was covered with a truly massive amount of paper, and Al curiously picked up what appeared to be a geographical survey. It was in great detail, but not a portion of the country he recognized; of course, he was likely to only recognize Central, Lior, and Resembool by geography alone. Beneath it was a diagram of a steam-powered engine, though the scale on the bottom right indicated it was far smaller than anything they currently had in production. Beneath that was a treatise on . . .

Al frowned, then gingerly sat in the green velvet chair. A treatise on fern spores.

Franklin had pretty far-reaching interests.

Al continued going through the pile, finding an even wider selection of subjects. They didn't seem to be sorted into any particular order, and some were far more complex than others. He found what appeared to be two chapters of an unfinished mystery book for children sitting beside a theoretical physics worksheet attempting to calculate what would happen if a stream of fast-moving electrons smashed into a molecule.

Al rubbed his scruff absently, tearing himself away and glancing over the room once more. Almost an hour had gone by. He was getting sucked in.

It was easy to see why Franklin would skip Ed's classes, considering the only subject Ed was teaching the alchemists was physics, and Sorn had already obviously surpassed the class material. He might be worth tutoring directly, if he was really this bright. If that physics worksheet was Sorn's work, and not someone else's, he was only about twenty years behind German understanding of theoretical physics.

A pity Amestris didn't have minds like Einstein, Lorentz, or Gerber. Doubtlessly their 'doubles' were around somewhere, but they just didn't have the same foundation to build upon as they did in Europe and the United States. Sorn could use a good conversation with the geniuses themselves, rather than him and nii-san, who only had access to the published findings.

Al surveyed the bookshelves, looking for any indication they were able to slide like Mustang's, and rubbed his right arm irritably. He'd been leaning on it funny; now it was tingling as circulation was restored. Walking around the room seemed to help, and he checked the walls and floors for any signs of anything amiss.

He really wasn't sure what he was looking for. Franklin Sorn _was_ the Mechanical Alchemist. He could very well be buying raw materials, transmuting things like that steam engine model, and selling them for profit. There was nothing prohibiting him from doing so.

And there was the rest of the house to survey.

He headed back out into the hallway, cocking his ear to any noise, and then paused.

Something was different.

He wasn't even sure what it was. The sun was setting, of course, so the lighting had shifted to reds, but this was . . .

Confused, Al stepped back into the library.

And nothing happened.

He studied the doorframe a moment, as if he expected it to offer up a clue. There was no sound, the lighting was just the same in here as it was in the hallway, albeit brighter because of the window . . . glancing back over the large desk, Al made visually sure there was no evidence of his presence there.

The chair.

He crossed the room again, not being able to shake the feeling of _something_ having changed, and put the chair back at the angle it had been when he'd first entered, which was more facing the door than the steamer trunk. He'd replaced the light dust on the steamer trunk lid, so there was no evidence he'd transmuted a hole in it . . .

He rubbed his cheek again, noting the unpleasant tingle was returning to his arm as well –

Al froze.

It was faint, faint enough and familiar enough that he didn't really pay it any attention. The moment he'd stepped out of the library, it had stopped.

He was feeling feedback.

Franklin had been stupid enough to accidentally contaminate his own home? No wonder he was always looking so ill! Al dropped to his knees, looking for some work clothes tucked under the desk, boots, anything that might have tracked contaminated dust or debris into the library. It was clear Sorn spent a lot of time here . . . but the feedback was pretty faint, all things considered. He'd been here over an hour, and it was just now becoming detectable –

They hadn't done any studies on sustained, low-level feedback exposure on alchemists. Just the citizens. This level wouldn't be considered harmful to the average human, but if this had happened in the beginning, and some little rock or piece of gravel had been slowly poisoning him over the course of five months –

It felt just slightly above what the alchemists considered a 'safe' level of decontamination. But even so, the alchemists were more sensitive to it than the average citizen. There was no telling what five months of continuous exposure could have done to Franklin. Maybe not enough to make him obviously sick, and if he was as engrossed in his notes as Al had been, he might not have even been aware of it. But five months into studying the feedback, they all knew it was going to have far-reaching effects . . .

Here on his knees, and concentrating, he could feel it more clearly. It was still very low-level, but Al had learned, like all the alchemists working on shift, how to detect it. He could still feel it to his right, and he turned until he could feel a slight tingling in the tip of his nose. Then he crawled forward.

Directly into the side of the desk.

Al opened his eyes and frowned, then scuttled around it to the front of the desk. Once more he oriented himself –

It really felt like it was coming from below him.

Slightly unnerved, Al clapped his hands. Accidentally tracking it in, he could see, but what was feedback doing in an area that had avoided literally all the fighting?

The wooden floorboards beneath his hands were not resistant. He dug deeper, into the foundation of the house, finding the dirt very easy to part. Despicably easy, actually. Its molecules were lined up nice and neat, with none of the usual layering that occurred over hundreds of years of weather and settling.

The ground had been transmuted recently.

He kept going, until about twenty or so feet. That was when he began to feel resistance. Al frowned, lifting his hands and looking at the neat cylindrical hole he'd transmuted, through not only the wood floor and subfloor, but also the crawlspace of the house. It was much easier to feel the feedback now, whatever it was had not been decontaminated, had been put there on purpose –

Surely not.

Al clapped his hands once more, forcing the suddenly stiff ingredients to the surface. He raised the column of dirt about two feet into the room, wincing a little as it came so close to his face. In the setting sun, it didn't look all that suspect. Dirt. There were a few dead worms hanging out of the column, which meant it had been there at least a few hours. Al reached out, brushing the cold, wet earth back down into the crawlspace as he sifted through it, trying to find the source.

The source was a small, corked glass vial.

Al wiped the dirt off the tube as soon as he found it, holding it up against the sunset light of the large window, to see about a quarter of an ounce of a powdered black substance rolling around freely inside. His chest and face were tingling quite unpleasantly, and the vial started to tremble slightly in his grasp.

It was astonishing, that such a tiny amount of matter could be giving off this level of feedback. It would have had to have been transmuted, with that damned amplifier, two dozen times to give off feedback this strongly. Even at the site of Ed's fight with Craege, it hadn't been quite this bad –

Well, it had been a lot worse, but it had been a hell of a lot more mass giving it off. This tiny little sample shouldn't have been capable of it. It was too pure black to be dirt, and as Al rotated the vial, trying to focus through suddenly tired pupils, it seemed to leave a fine powder in the vial itself.

It looked like . .. carbon.

Of course, it couldn't be straight carbon, since if it was there would be no compound bonds for the alchemic energy to reinforce, thus no breaking down of the alchemic energy, thus no feedback. It was heavily carbon, though, no doubt. A substance that was mostly comprised of carbon . . .

Well, one immediately came to mind, but a background in human transmutation made _any_ of the elements of the human body leap out at you. Could it be a piece of a much-transmuted building? Or the site upon which Craege Irving had died?

Again, the though tugged, and Al put the vial down, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. With some plaster and wood between him and it, the feedback level settled down significantly, and Al took a deep breath, ignoring slightly shaky knees.

Were those actually pieces of the remains of Craege Irving?

What the hell were they doing buried beneath Franklin Sorn's house?

Away from the feedback, he took several deep, slow breaths. Look at things logically. Think this through.

Sorn had been looking ill since the Irvings attacked.

Sorn had been moving large sums of money in and out of his accounts.

Sorn had been semi-frequently visiting the hospital.

There was a piece of something – not necessarily Craege Irving's remains – buried in a vial twenty feet under his house. Giving off detectable amounts of feedback.

It hadn't gotten there accidentally. It had been transmuted, with alchemy, to a place directly under Sorn's study.

Franklin Sorn was missing.

It didn't add up to anything. Was someone trying to poison the kid on purpose? Where was he? Was he missing or just hiding in the hospital again, having been too sick to attend class? Should he notify Mustang of the weirdness, or continue researching on his own until he either found Sorn or figured out who might have placed the feedbacking materials beneath Sorn's study?

If someone was weakening the kid on purpose, with intent to capture him . . . but why?

The steam engine idea, perhaps? It would be worth a ton of money, and a weakened alchemist could much more easily be kept under wraps . . . but again, by whom? The company or party he was doing the previous large-sum business with?

The bank should have information on the transactions, and a call to Patterson would likely net him Franklin, if the kid was in a military clinic. Which he seemed to favor, since the last two 'hidden' appointments had been there . . .

But maybe those were the only two the military investigation had turned up. What if there were more? Franklin hadn't looked the same since . . . well, since Mustang's inauguration. But then again, he'd nearly been killed by the blow he'd received, and jumped right into the cleanup efforts, so he'd likely not had much of a chance to heal-

And not everyone was nii-san. Not everyone bounced back from this kind of thing.

Al was more than half-afraid that even Edward hadn't bounced back this time. It was kinda hard to tell; with his current philosophy of 'less alchemy is more' there was no way to tell if his lack of large transmutations was due to principles, limitation, or fear.

Though it bothered him that, from everything he'd heard, Armstrong hadn't done anything gargantuan recently, either. That could have been because of his impending promotion, but that could also simply be a clever excuse.

As for Mustang . . . he had no need to transmute. Which was probably a good thing, since anything large enough to prove his recovery would burn down an eighth of the city.

And none of this speculation was helping him determine whether or not this was significant enough to inform Mustang.

Tracking down the kid was either going to be really simple or impossible. He could just make the call to the hospital and find out –

And risk alerting someone that Franklin was missing. If someone really was after the kid, that might be just the signal they were looking for. He'd also give away his position as investigating the alchemists, if someone was watching closely. Franklin had been sick several times, but it had never warranted a visit from one of his professors and colleagues before. It would be very convenient indeed if Al was taken in by the government and then just happened to want to stop by to visit Franklin that evening and find him missing.

Damn, this had gotten complicated in a hurry.

Al headed back into the kitchen, where a cream-colored phone with brass accents sat on the countertop. When in doubt, ask Hawkeye. It seemed a good philosophy. She'd given him a private number for the purposes of reporting in, so there was no risk it would be traced. But then again, using Franklin's phone when the kid might be missing could come back to haunt him –

He was too unsteady at the moment to walk back to the car. To hell with intrigue. Franklin Sorn could be in serious trouble.

Al sat heavily in one of the stout pine chairs, dialing the phone carefully with still-trembling fingers. It only rang twice; either the colonel was working late, or the line had been forwarded to her home.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth," he greeted casually, making sure to keep his voice from belying the shakes he was still feeling. "Just thought I'd check up, see how you were on this lovely summer evening."

"Working," she replied carefully. "The line's secure. What can I do for you?"

Al blinked. He didn't like the sound of her tone at all. If it was a secure line, why was she sounding so . . . cautious? Then again, she probably wasn't too happy to be hearing from him so soon either. "I think we have a problem."

"Details, please."

He took a deep breath. "Ah, Franklin Sorn is absent and possibly missing, and there was a piece of heavily contaminated matter placed about twenty feet below his home."

A slight pause, and an odd little click. "When did he go missing?"

"I don't know if he really is, yet. Nii-san said he didn't show up for afternoon class, so no one at the Academy's seen him since . . . yesterday?"

"When you say heavily contaminated, what do you mean?"

Al blinked again, momentarily nonplussed. It was one thing to be given a private line to Hawkeye, but to have Mustang on the same line . . . were they both still in the office? Al glanced out the kitchen window, noting the sun had completely set. He'd been under the impression that the Prime Minister had dinner dates scheduled back to back until at least the winter solstice holidays.

"Less than half an ounce, detectable through twenty feet of dirt." At least there was no question about that. "I'd just be guessing if I told you what I think it is."

"Guess."

There was some . . . tightness in his voice that Al didn't like, either, and he tried not to sound irritated when he replied. "Mostly carbon, transmuted at least a dozen times. I'd guess debris from the spot where Craege Irving fought his last battle, or a piece of the remains."

There was a brief silence. "Ignore the rest of the list," came Mustang's clipped tones. "Center on Sorn. Anything you can find on business partners, possible enemies, and any links to the activities in the report. You might consider visiting his hometown, looking up any family or friends that may have information on his whereabouts."

That was an awful lot of concern over something that could be nothing. "I . . . didn't mean to alarm you," Al started. "It's possible this was just a plant by another alchemist to . . . slow Franklin down, make him sick -"

"Unlikely."

His tone was so final, and so sure, that Al found himself standing without really knowing why. Something was going on. There was a reason they'd both been in the office, and whatever it was, it was a big problem. "What aren't you telling me?"

Unsurprisingly, it was Hawkeye who spoke next, and a bit more gently than she had previously. "Alphonse, have you seen Edward recently?"

Those six words had been said to him in the past, many times. Some of those times, by the very same woman who spoke them now. Never once had they ended with anything Al really wanted to hear.

"What happened?" He figured it was an answer in of itself.

"There seems to have been a disturbance in the area he was assigned to decontaminate this evening. He's wanted for questioning in relation to a large underground explosion."

Al sucked in a deep breath, bringing with it a whiff of garlic. "Is he okay?" If he was wanted for questioning, at least he wasn't dead. They wouldn't have said that if they knew he was dead.

"We don't know," came the colonel's steady voice. "But preliminary investigations have turned up dead chimera."

An explosion and chimera. Well, that definitely sounded like Ed. "When was this?"

"About forty minutes ago. Master Sergeant Brosh thought he saw Edward in the First Library arguing with one of the librarians twenty minutes after. He hasn't check himself into the military hospital, and he didn't return to the Academy. A car was sent to your home but Jean hasn't checked in yet."

Twenty minutes. Ed could have made it to the library on foot from grid twenty-seven in that amount of time. Hell, in half that amount of time. He had no vehicle, unless he'd commandeered one – which he couldn't do, since he'd been stripped of military rank. Then again, as an alchemist and the director of the Academy he had some clout with Parliament, but twenty minutes, no matter how it was sliced, meant he must still be near the center of the city.

Dead chimera? Near Lab 5? He was about to open his mouth, and ask how long they'd been dead, but he closed it again. She said she only had preliminary findings. She wouldn't have that level of information yet.

He sighed quietly, eying the darkening kitchen for the offending herb he kept smelling.

Of course. Laboratory Five – and this explosion - was right next to the prison. Which was why Mustang and Hawkeye were back in the office, since someone would have to release a statement assuring the city at large that a prison break was not underway, and then a coverup would need to be put into place to avoid making the incident look like an alchemic screw-up-

Which it likely wasn't.

Did Mustang think it had something to do with Franklin's disappearance?

Did it?

There was the faintest creak behind him, from the direction of the hall, and despite the lethargy he'd gained since handling the radioactive material, Al whipped around, dropping the phone in lieu of bringing his hands together –

The smell of garlic was quite a bit stronger, and it wasn't coming from the braid of the spice hanging over the sink.

It was coming from a somewhat surprised-looking Edward Elric.

- x -

Edward watched his brother relax, and with a nasty glare, he bent and retrieved the dropped phone. Even before he'd put it back to his ear, Ed could hear a voice on the other end calling for him.

"He's here." The voice sounded unusually weary for Al. It wasn't late enough for him to be so wiped. There was a brief pause. "I'll ask him."

Then Al simply hung up the phone.

Edward opened his mouth, but Al beat him to the punch.

"Well?"

Again, the angry tone. What the hell had he done to deserve not only the glare, but the voice? He shot his brother a glare of his own. "Hello to you too." Let's see how he liked getting his own words right back.

Al sat gracelessly at the table, propping up his head up with one arm. He did not seem at all abashed about having been found in Franklin Sorn's kitchen, nor did he seem concerned that the young alchemist was going to return at any moment and wonder what the hell he was doing there. Instead, he was openly looking his older brother up and down with a disapproving . . . everything.

"You reek. Trying to ward off vampires, nii-san?"

Ed frowned at him, and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. He was lucky to still _have_ arms. He was even luckier to still have eyebrows. He was pretty sure he had Patterson's magical anti-feedback elixir to thank for that.

Not that his hair wasn't singed. Not that all of him wasn't singed, actually. He felt very much like he'd spent a day at the beach in Greece and sunburned the crap out of himself. And he knew he had no right to complain about it.

The square corridor had saved him. That and the distance between the skylights he'd transmuted. He was centered in the hallway, with the ceiling as tall as the corridor was wide, and the wind from the shifting air pressures had swept directly over him, carrying the majority of the heat and fire with it. He hadn't transmuted enough phosphorus in any one area to really get going, so while the initial flash had been intense, that had really been it.

That and a truly wicked headache. "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

Strangely, his brother seemed to hesitate. "Phosphorus," he said finally. "It's not garlic, it's phosphorus."

"No shit," Edward snapped grouchily. They weren't following their normal rules. Instead of answering each other, they were just asking more questions. And he had plenty. Al was the last person he'd expected to find in Sorn's house. "Who was that on the phone?"

"What did you blow up?"

Despite the obvious lack of energy in his posture and voice, Ed could see quite clearly that Al was _irritated._ Which wasn't like him. Neither was the lethargy. Something was off with his brother, and as bad as he felt, this was a battle he didn't really want to have.

"Someone's been mining Red Stone," he announced abruptly. "Guess who's been working grid twenty-seven for the past several weeks."

Al sat up a little straighter, dropping his hand from his chin to the table. "Franklin."

Ed nodded once. "Found a tunnel stretching from what I thought was the prison to the ruins of Lab Five. Had definitely been transmuted. It was filled with dead chimeras."

Al's eyes widened considerably. "Nii-san-"

Ed dropped his chin a little, staring at the Al's legs instead of his face. Where the extra trouser fabric behind his calves was trembling, just a little. "You weren't supposed to work shift today, Al."

His brother grimaced, and had the good grace to look slightly less accusatory. "I didn't really intend to," he admitted. "I was worried when Franklin missed class again, and I had time after I dropped you off, so I came to see him."

So much for Al and Franklin not being buddies. "You do that often?"

Al laughed, almost hollowly. "No. First time."

Ed cocked his head to the side as something clicked in the back of his mind. "His car's not in the driveway."

"You noticed."

"Then why are you in his house?"

"Why are you? Why the hell aren't you checking yourself into the HQ hospital?"

Ed stared at his brother for a long moment. "Al . . .?"

A fleeting look passed over his little brother's face. Consternation, maybe? "Look, Miss Dueys was concerned when the military announced its investigations, so she was going over the books, and she said that she was worried about Franklin's account. Large sums of money moving in and out at regular intervals. You and I both know a house isn't cheap, and he's only fifteen. I thought maybe . . . he was transmuting his own gold." Al shrugged. "I don't actually care, even if it _is_ illegal, but if Hakuro's men get ahold of a rumor like that . . ."

Ed leaned back further on the doorjamb, considering. "Large sums of money . . . " Could he have been making the chimeras _for_ someone? Selling them? If so, his current status of being absent from both his home and his class could mean he was meeting with the buyer . . . or worse.

He could have been in the stomach of that chimera in the tunnel.

Of course, without more information, they wouldn't even know where to start looking for the fool kid. "Al, is there an office or study here?" Maybe there was a day planner, or at least a calendar –

Al shot to his feet, taking a step towards Ed before he seemed to really know what he was doing. "Don't go in there."

Ed had leaned up off the doorjamb in surprise, and gave his brother another look. Things were starting to fall into place . . . "You left something out of your story. The part where you were exposed to feedback," he said slowly. It sounded like an accusation, now that he'd heard himself say it.

Al heaved a large sigh. Almost defeatedly. "Can't you feel it?"

Ed blinked at his brother, then stopped, and thought about it.

His face was tingling, ever so slightly.

Ed's expression must have changed, because his brother correctly interpreted what he was thinking. "I didn't find gold. I found a piece of . . . I don't even know. Maybe Craege Irving. In a corked glass vial about twenty feet below the house. I could feel the feedback in Franklin's study."

Edward stared at his brother a moment. "But that doesn't make any sense . . ."

Did he have it all wrong? Maybe it wasn't Franklin mining the Stone after all. Maybe he'd been unlucky enough to stumble on the tunnel himself. Maybe that's why those chimera had already been dead-

But then, where the hell was Franklin?

He took a step forward, towards the main hall, and he heard the unmistakable clunk of a lock breaking.

Ed didn't even spare Al a glance. Almost as a single unit, they dove for opposite sides of the front door, a large wooden one with a decorated oval window that took up nearly half of its middle. It gave them a pretty good silhouette of the person on the other side, and the thin, scraping noise told of tools being removed from the lock.

The door was recessed into a small foyer, about eight feet from the corner Ed was hiding behind. Across the way, a thin stripe of light from the streetlamps outside crossed Al's face. His brother was looking at him.

Sorn wouldn't be breaking into his own house. And the sun had just set, so this couldn't be a simple burglary.

For the first time that evening, Edward was actually glad he'd had to get a ride from someone, rather than having a car of his own to have left in the driveway. Maybe now they could finally get some answers

The door opened quickly but silently, giving both brothers a better view of the intruder. The frame was thick, slightly taller than Al's, and the clothing bulky. Hard to tell body type. He was holding something, though whether a weapon or a bag of tools Ed couldn't tell.

Not that it mattered.

The intruder entered swiftly, and Ed brought his hands together sharply, both halting the man in his tracks and preparing a transmutation of cellulose.

"That's far eno-"

It wasn't a bag of tools.

The flash of the muzzle showed him the position of the gun, and the whine of a bullet passing uncomfortably close had him throwing himself back before he really thought about it. Across the hall, Al was charging the man, but he had several yards to cover and the intruder was already turning toward him –

He was weakened from the feedback. He might not make it in time.

Ed slammed his left hand against the wall, causing a thick spike of wood to shoot out from the interior foyer wall, directly at the pair. It had the desired effect; the gun was knocked cleanly from their attacker's hands. Unfortunately, Al couldn't stop himself in time, and the rod was too high to vault.

Al did the only thing he could do – he fell back, his feet outstretched in a sliding sweep. It was a thing of beauty; Al caught the hallway runner at just the right angle, bunching it beneath his shoes and crashing into the intruder with nearly as much force as he would have with the original attack. He took the guy's feet right out from under him, and the two crashed into the foyer corner.

Ed darted around the wall, preparing another transmutation, this one of plaster, when he caught sight of the front yard through the wide-open door.

His eyes widened.

"Get do-"

The problem with these guys, Ed decided suddenly, was that they never let him finish a sentence. It was downright rude.

He counted three flashes of light, though two of them could have been from the same gun, or a single person holding two pistols. It didn't matter. The entrance to Sorn's house was suddenly exploding with bullets, and the large wooden rod he'd transmuted not thirty seconds ago saved his life. With no runner to interrupt the smooth wood floors, he lost his footing, twisting in the air to avoid falling flat on his butt. A quick somersault brought him out of direct line of fire, and with a clap, he erected a solid wood wall where the door had once stood.

Cleanly separating Al from the man he was wrestling.

"Damnit!"

Ed heard another clap, and he watched in disbelief as Al deconstructed half of the wall he'd just transmuted, with a flash of red light. More bullets rained in, causing both men to duck for cover, and it didn't lessen, even as they heard tires squealing on the pavement outside.

"Al!"

His brother had prepared a transmutation, but there was no getting out the door to touch the ground outside. The hail of bullets continued, even as the car swung crazily onto Cobalt. With a wink of brakelights, the car took the corner, and disappeared from sight.

Ed stood slowly, shaking out his arms and shoulders. His skin was still pretty numb from the brief but intense searing it had sustained earlier, but he was pretty sure he wasn't hit.

"Al, you okay?"

With a brief blink of red light, the remaining obstacle in the front door was removed. "Fine. Nii-san-"

Al didn't even need to finish the thought.

The guys were fast, well-armed, and probably not there to give Sorn a get-well-soon card. Just what the hell was going on?

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, it was long, because I was afraid that if I didn't include the gunfire I'd get made fun of some more. ; ) So, oo, mystery! Intrigue! Slightly cooked Edward! (You didn't really think he was toast, did you?) I found a ton of typos in this chapter, which means there are more. If you see any, let me know! Next chapter, we'll have . . . exposition! It's like explosions and gunfire, only . . . not as noisy. Sort of.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He watched impassively as the monstrous form continued to grow, almost impossibly, and after a brief pause, it headed directly for him.

Alex Louis Armstrong had had to stoop quite a bit to ascend the narrow staircase, and the act of straightening as he climbed made his dark silhouette seem even more preposterously gigantic than he already was. The night and the blinding yellow lamps that had been set up to illuminate the perfectly rectangular channels transmuted into the street just made the entire thing more ridiculous. He couldn't help a slight smirk as an enlisted scuttled out of the Strong Arm Alchemist's path with a squeak, and he did nothing to modify the expression as his friend drew closer.

"They were truly brilliantly made," he rumbled, when quiet speech was easy. "I have not seen chimera of that quality in many years."

These were not normal chimera, that just any advanced alchemist could transmute. They were not dogs crossed with chickens, or boars crossed with felines. They were by far the largest he'd ever seen, but then again, as the Flame Alchemist, he'd rarely been ordered to investigate chimera-related crimes.

The military couldn't use a charred corpse. They'd be far better off to send someone more suited to trap the beasts, or strong enough to simply pick them up and carry them away.

Which was the reason, of all the alchemists in Central, that he'd called the Brigadier General.

"So you've seen like chimera before?"

The immense man before him heaved a tremendous sigh as he considered. "Timothy Marcoh could have transmuted these, if he were still alive," he finally admitted. "The Sewing Life Alchemist as well. Though that is impossible."

Mustang just nodded. As far as he knew, Marcoh truly was gone, and had been for many years. Killed by the Homunculus Lust, if memory served. As for Shou Tucker . . . dead by his own hand, sealed in his laboratory fruitlessly training the soulless doll that was his daughter.

Armstrong took the agreement for exactly what it was. "It is fully possible the Winding Tree Alchemist could have done so, with the help of his brother. I have seen them modify many living things to these proportions." The light was to Alex's back, so it was impossible to read his expression, but Roy was pretty sure the other man was watching him for some kind of signal that this line of contemplation was forbidden.

He gave none. If the Tringums were transmuting chimera, there had to be a good reason why.

"Perhaps the Quiet Alchemist could also do so as well, though I would not have expected such seamless results."

Darr Swolls, the man who had passed his certification examination by walking through the pagoda the previous hopeful had transmuted. Literally walking through solid matter. He changed the frequency at which molecules vibrated, also allowing him to affect sound waves as they traveled through objects and gases, or even eliminating them entirely. He could theoretically easily combine two animals, but once returned to their normal frequency, surely they would have died.

Armstrong rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And of course the Elric brothers."

"General Hakuro is arriving," Hawkeye interrupted with a murmur, from the side. She stood with her back mostly facing them, keeping an eye on the activity and the roofs of the nearby government buildings. She hadn't approved of his coming to the site personally, not at all, and he supposed from a security standpoint it was very nearly unacceptable. Night, they were blinded by artificial light, near the prison . . . half the city knew of the explosion by now, and the site could be approached from any direction. He was asking to get picked off.

Luckily, the best sniper he knew was keeping an eye out for just such an opportunist. It was just too bad she wasn't high-ranking enough to run interference for him where Hakuro was concerned.

The general was going to have a field day with this.

"You say Edward Elric found them?"

Mustang nodded again. The adrenaline that had rushed through his blood at the initial report left him aching to move, to fight, to do _something_ besides stand here calmly and oversee the investigation. He had every right, of course; not only was he the Prime Minister, but he was also directly supervising all State Alchemists. And the initial report had very much made it sound like he was going to be overseeing a military funeral next.

The walls and ceilings were melted. There was no better way to describe them. Intense heat had torn across them, not enough to bind the dirt into glass, but close. If they had been in the path of the explosion, as the report had claimed, it would have meant the corridor had been filled with air at least two thousand degrees. Nothing would have survived it. And the report had also told of the carcasses of chimeras, seeming to agree with that assessment.

What it hadn't mentioned was that the chimeras still had skin, hair, and intact flesh. They were singed, true, but the solid carcasses weren't seared, as they would have been otherwise.

That fact had then logically led to the conclusion that the explosion had originated from the walls and ceilings themselves, which had gotten the worst of the heat, rather than the corridor. The condition of the floor supported this. An overwhelming odor of garlic also helped – the trademark of white phosphorus.

Which meant Fullmetal had been transmuting phosphorus out of the walls and ceilings to light up the tunnel he'd discovered. Then, either in the fight with the chimera, or for some other reason, the phosphorus had been given the proper amount of friction to start a heat reaction, and up it had gone. Which meant it was fully possible that Brosh really had seen Edward Elric in the library not twenty minutes later, doubtlessly getting the same information that Roy had checked the moment he'd heard.

Who had been working that grid.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Alphonse Elric had also chosen this night to check into Franklin Sorn. If events five months ago were any indication, he could still trust the more sedate Elric to properly assess injuries and procure necessary treatment.

Once the immediate threat to Fullmetal was gone, there was nothing left to do but stand quietly and let his men do their jobs. Gather data. Assess evidence. And consider what Alphonse had reported.

Not that he had all night. Rousing himself out of his thoughts, Mustang removed his pocketwatch from his right pocket and consulted it.

Twenty minutes to eight.

"I noticed something else," Armstrong spoke again into the silence. "Some of the chimera appeared in far worse states of decay than others."

Roy had noticed that himself. The smaller ones appeared to have been dead for a little while; the most liquid organs had shriveled or disappeared, the intestines had burst long before they'd been burned. He didn't know whether it simply meant someone had been practicing over the course of several weeks, or something –

Something worse than that.

"Colonel, remind me to pull notes on early Lior." Not that he was likely to forget, but he was looking forward to an evening of distraction at the very least, and he didn't need it taking away any more time than it already would.

Alex made a choked noise, and Roy knew he'd made the same leap. The priest there, armed with Red Stone given to him by homunculi, had been observed briefly animating the dead, such as birds. What was Red Stone but Incomplete Stone, and were there not still gallons of the stuff buried deep in the ground here? If someone was testing it by creating such enormous chimera, what was to stop them from transmuting the dead chimera back to life? Or worse, constructing chimera from the dead?

After all, where had these animals come from? The base materials had to have had the same mass as what they were combined into. Creatures the size of horses or bears had to have been involved, and how could such animals have been transported live to such an area as this? Even less conveniently, large animals ate a great deal – and excreted almost the same amount. Keeping them alive once they were here would have been another daunting task on its own. All this without being detected, despite the alchemist presence due to cleaning up the feedback-

And Sorn's report had clearly stated that contaminated matter was present, and was broken down. No alchemist could have lasted more than a half-hour at most in those tunnels with the levels originally on the site. Certainly no one, not even Fullmetal or his brother, could have completed these massive transmutations while experiencing it.

So this happened recently. And those chimera looked as though they'd been dead longer than days.

"Who would do such a thing?" Armstrong's voice was almost wondering. "To what end?"

Another excellent question. He supposed if he were optimistic, he could believe one or more of the alchemists might have been experimenting with creating an army to protect Amestris, should war be unavoidable. More likely, he believed someone was testing Red Stone, and they were caught by Franklin. However the fight ended, Sorn was missing, no human bodies were recovered, and there was no evidence of Incomplete Stone.

If someone had been mining it, and Sorn had caught them at this . . . the boy was either in deep trouble, or he'd taken the Incomplete Stone, believing it to be the Philosopher's Stone, and had gone. Roy knew as well as every other alchemist that had overseen his practical that Franklin Sorn had only one purpose.

The same purpose a boy three years his junior had had when he'd taken the same exam, on the same day, though driven by something so completely opposite they could hardly be compared. In his interviews, no emotion had burned in his eyes, and he had clearly stated exactly why he sought the certification.

He was there for information. Information that only State Alchemists could access. And now that he might have what he thought was the true Stone, there was no need for any more information. No need to continue his servitude to the state.

In which case, sending Alphonse to check out Sorn's hometown and relatives was probably the only way they'd ever find the boy again. At the very least, it could tell them why the young man had wanted a Stone in the first place.

Unlike Edward and Alphonse Elric, after all, it wasn't terribly obvious. As far as he knew, none of the boy's limbs were automail. He had no siblings, bound to armor or not. His application had stated that both his parents were dead, but however unfortunate, it wasn't that unusual. His was the generation whose father could have fought in the Ishbal conflict, and his mother may have simply taken ill, like the Elrics'. Either way, there'd never been any indication that he missed them – or hated them.

But then, Franklin Sorn just wasn't as outspoken as Edward Elric had been. He'd had his share of private meetings with the boy, stringing him along with just enough information exactly as he'd done with Fullmetal. Only Franklin had been older, he was as old as Ed had been when he'd started realizing the big picture. And Sorn wasn't as easy to manipulate as Edward had been, mainly because he was by far the most unemotional and mature fifteen year old Roy had ever clapped eyes on.

So while they had traded some information, Sorn was still a mystery. He knew the kid didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, and knew damn well that he was withholding information in an effort to slow or possibly completely dead-end Philosopher's Stone research. That didn't stop their occasional verbal sparring matches.

Except it wasn't verbal sparring. More like verbal chess, really. The most intense emotion he'd ever seen from the boy had been irritation. He was too focused and driven, and he'd . . . withdrawn from the world at some point prior to his certification exam. He'd been that way the entire time Mustang had known him, and it was . . . disheartening. No matter how brilliant his mind, he was still a child, and children should not be burdened with such desperate circumstances that they would have to seek something like the Stone. Fifteen year olds should be playing ball in the street, not transmuting alchemic feedback out of it.

He was what Edward Elric might have been, if not for Alphonse.

And without Alphonse, Edward would have gotten himself killed a long time ago. If Sorn hadn't won his fight against the other alchemist, he was in very real danger with little hope of receiving help.

He needed to be found, one way or the other.

Alex suddenly spun on his heels forty-five degrees and snapped to attention, and Roy turned his head ever so slightly to his right. Hawkeye was also saluting, though not as crisply, and General Hakuro marched the last few steps with something akin to agitation.

"Do you really believe it was wise, Minister?" His voice was still controlled, considering the audience, and when Roy didn't immediately respond he waved down the salutes. "I should have been informed."

Mustang turned fully to face him, cocking his head slightly. "Ah, of course. My apologies. My security chief is present, and I knew I could not stay long." Which was, unfortunately, true. "I found the initial reports lacking in details."

"I'm not talking about this." The general waved a jerking hand at the activity around the series of holes Fullmetal had transmuted in his attempts to explore the tunnel. "I understand you passed an order to Colonel Mazo to search for the Mechanical Alchemist."

Hawkeye didn't even bat an eye, and Roy arranged a politely confused look on his face. That order had been given less than half an hour ago. How . . . ? Had Mazo told him? "That's true. He was the last alchemist before Fullmetal to work this area and he failed to attend mandatory training at the Academy today."

Hakuro actually had the audacity to appear indignant. "You're usually a little more subtle than that, Mustang."

Mustang blinked before he realized he'd misinterpreted Hakuro's protest. The general wasn't upset that the order had been passed without his approval. Hakuro was upset because Roy had just issued a military order to track down one of the six alchemists on the general's shit list.

Perhaps that was how he knew. Could he have someone specifically listening for calls or orders relating to everyone on his lists? Or just the alchemists? Roy had been expecting the general to gloat about Fullmetal's fuck-up, not to look as though his birthday was under threat of cancellation.

Was the general seriously concerned for his well-being, or just upset his men might get to a possibly guilty alchemist before Hakuro's could?

Not that he could say too much about it, with the Strong Arm Alchemist standing there. The last thing he wanted to do was attract well-meaning but unwanted Armstrong attention. "I don't believe this has any relation to that matter."

He supposed Franklin could have been selling the Incomplete Stone he was mining to Amestris' enemies, but that was such a stretch . . . and unless the next assassin sent after him was a chimera, it could hardly be related to a plot to kill him.

The general didn't respond for a moment, and when he did, his voice was quiet but intense. "Your trust is misplaced." The general flicked a glance toward Alex, but continued despite his presence. "A mistake here could be very costly."

Mustang held his gaze steadily. "I agree."

Hakuro watched him a moment more before turning away in disgust. "I'm turning the site over to military investigations. I'll arrange for more detailed reports to be delivered to you tomorrow morning."

Mustang inclined his head, though he knew the general wasn't looking at him. "Very well. Thank you, Brigadier General," he added, in a friendlier voice. "I appreciate your evaluation, and I'm sorry for pulling you away from your dinner."

"Nonsense," the Strong Arm Alchemist boomed, his serious and quiet tones gone as if they'd never been. "My family has long grown accustomed to duty before recreation. Please, join us. We would be honored-"

Roy felt a genuine smile trying to crawl out, and he let it. Armstrong was good man, indeed. "I'm afraid I have prior obligations."

"Surely none so pleasant as a dinner with three generations of the Armstrong family!"

He thought that over for a moment. Three Drachman 'ambassadors' trying to seduce him, or the two Armstrong generals and the brigadier general.

Hmm.

"Of course not," he responded smoothly. "But as you said, duty before recreation."

"Prime Minister."

His gaze flicked back to Hawkeye, already moving away to-

To meet with what appeared to be an out-of-breath Heymans Breda.

He started for them immediately, hardly surprised when both the general and the soon-to-be general followed him. He was hoping the fool hadn't actually run all the way from the main Parliament building, which was over a mile. He was supposed to be resting, on light duty, without being tied to a damn desk for god only knew how many hours working on that effing list for Hakuro –

The colonel had already caught up to him, and the man looked very much as if he wanted nothing more than to grab his knees and catch his breath. He _had_ run the entire distance. There was never a time that the slightly portly major had been a master sprinter, but the man shouldn't have been winded over this.

He shouldn't have been running, dammit. He shouldn't have even been on duty.

"-want to know as soon as it happened-"

The colonel, ever composed, merely stood beside him, apparently oblivious to the fact that he hadn't saluted her, and in an excellent position to catch him if he collapsed forward. "Please, major, slow down-"

"Boss!" Heymans met his eyes directly, but his entire bearing was so damn apologetic-

Roy wondered what his own expression looked like. He immediately moved forward, clapping a steadying hand on the shorter man's shoulder and blocking him from the general's direct view. "What is it, Major?"

He gasped a few times, but thankfully didn't start coughing. "Just a few – minutes ago. Right into your office. No idea how they did it."

Office. They. "Who, major?"

Breda shook his head, taking a moment to gulp down another breath. "I don't know. Thieves, I guess. Only thing they touched was the safe."

Another deluge of adrenaline, the second of the evening. "Which safe?" There were two, though not many people knew that-

Heymans choked down another gasp. He wasn't getting his wind back as well as he should have. "The little one, boss."

Shit.

"Was it emptied?" The 'little' one, as they referred to it, was a precious treasure indeed. It was actually a gift, in a way, from the late Johann Irving, and one Fullmetal. After his automail 'armor' had been rendered unable to be transmuted with one of the Fusing Alchemist's compounds, it had been melted down by Edward's automail mechanics and adopted family and turned into an untransmutable safe. It was also quite sturdily made, with an excellent locking mechanism. It was quite possibly the least vulnerable safe in Amestris, save its size. The thing was almost impractically tiny, and as such had contained very small things. Arrays, notes, a spare set of gloves, the key to the city-

"No." He managed a deep breath this time, and for the first time he seemed to realize that Hakuro was there, because he paused. "Well, yeah. I mean they took the safe. They opened it, dumped the contents on the floor, and took it. It's gone."

He kept his hand on the major's shoulder, though he wasn't sure Breda needed it, and caught the colonel's eye. "Get on the horn. I want to know where those ambassadors have spent every second since we left." He next turned on Armstrong. "I'm sorry, Brigadier General, but I need to ask you for another favor."

Alex stepped forward smartly, astutely remaining silent rather than launching into another reassuring lecture.

"Please return with the major to HQ and determine whether anyone got a good look at the intruders, and can give a description." As much as he prattled on about the Armstrong artistic traditions, passed down the family line, it was a fact the man was capable of almost photographic portraits. If anyone had even seen a figure, a height, Alex could work with it. And at least that way it didn't sound as much like the escort order it really was.

He knew Breda had figured it out though, because the man tried to protest, but Alex rumbled a greeting to the other soldier, effectively cutting him off even as Mustang turned to glare back the way they'd come.

So all this was no more than a distraction?

Hakuro followed his gaze before approaching, taking the retreating major's place in front of him. He took a breath to speak, but moment after moment passed without sound. When he finally broke that silence, it was with the same quiet voice he'd used earlier.

"Still believe there's no alchemist involved?"

He didn't bother to look at the older man, preferring to study the tunnel entrance, almost wishing he still had his damaged eye. When he'd looked out onto the city with it, he could see the worst. Could see all his mistakes.

Now that it was gone, it was getting harder and harder to make them out.

"Of course."

Beside him, the silver-haired man snorted. "What are you up to, Mustang?"

"A dinner party," he replied truthfully. It was probably five till, or possibly even eight. There was a chance he was late to the evening meal requested by the Drachman representatives. And considering this was their first night in Central without Tolya, it would be rude to leave them waiting.

"We're all being such good puppets, after all. Why tangle the strings until we have to."

- x -

"Give me a hand?"

It was probably the closest thing he was going to get to an apology, and Alphonse Elric heaved an exaggerated sigh and pulled himself away from a fascinating treatise on herbal remedies to give his brother a long-suffering look.

Edward replied with narrowing eyes, and Al gave up and stood, crossing the library to where his brother was standing in the doorway, utterly unabashed, clad only in his trousers and armor. He was juggling what looked like the eviscerated remains of an entire aloe plant with one arm, and held a large glass of water in the other.

Knowing his brother, those were peace offerings. Voluntarily doing what Al was going to make him do anyway; rehydrate and give his burnt skin a little attention.

And despite his appearance and apparent lack of concern for the fact that he was using someone else's belongings, Al knew damn well that Ed was never going to make himself comfortable enough in Franklin Sorn's home to ditch the 'automail.' Probably not ever, but certainly not with the court-martial and the random gunmen. If there were burns under there, they'd have to tend them when they got home.

Hopefully Winry had thought of chimeras, underground tunnels, and extremely hot phosphorus reactions when she'd designed his armor, and chosen metals that didn't conduct heat efficiently.

Oh, shit. Winry.

He hid his grimace well, convincing himself he could feel the weight of the letter tucked safely in his vest. Maybe there was a chance he could do both. Follow Mustang's order, and help Granny Pinako. His first lie seemed to have passed without Ed's catching on, but things were getting far too complicated to keep up for long.

Al kept his thoughts to himself, accepting an outstretched leaf. Ed had already stripped the sides of thorns and slit the gummy, oozy cactus-like plant into two strips of soothing, cooling comfort. He didn't know why Franklin Sorn might be cultivating aloe plants, but one thing was certain – they owed him one after this. Nii-san had literally gutted the entire thing.

And given how angry his skin looked, they were going to use most of it.

"Found anything yet?"

Al peeled the leaf apart, trying to keep the aloe goo on the flesh of the leaf as he slapped it flat onto his brother's chest. Ed's midriff looked red but okay; his upper chest and neck were starting to sport small swollen areas that, upon closer inspection, were cozy clusters of tiny blisters. It was a wonder he still had clothes.

It was a wonder he still had _hair._ And unless Ed was wearing that slightly glassy-eyed look because of the feedback, he was also pretty sure nii-san had sustained himself a decent knock to the head.

Not that that had ever had much effect before . . .

"Well," he began, carefully massaging the vitamin-rich gel into his brother's sore skin, "I found a lovely document on ancient herbal remedies." Which had included something very like the recipe Dante had been using to treat sensei's internal damage, among other, less tasteful afflictions. "Which says tomatoes are highly acidic and half of one is enough to kill a grown man."

"Did he write it or just have it?"

"I think he just had it." He'd only had about twenty minutes to look over the notes, but the handwriting was unfamiliar and the ink lightened with age. Or careful alchemy. "Too soon to know if it's encoded."

Ed just grunted, not so much as flinching as Al worked his way into one of the raised clusters.

"I've read the novel up to chapter three, where Dwight and Missy have just found themselves trapped in the basement of a dilapidated building. They fell through the floor, and the stairway is too rotted to hold their weight. And a thunderstorm is rolling in."

He didn't need to look at his brother's expression; the only reason Sorn would be writing a child's adventure mystery was the same reason Edward and Alphonse Elric had kept such detailed travelogues. There was no doubt something was encrypted in those pages, though on first glance it seemed so simple that it couldn't possibly have been Franklin's work.

"Are there more chapters?"

"Not that I've found, yet." He left what remained of the first half of the leaf stuck to Ed's chest, and took the other half from Ed's outstretched hand. "Keep drinking your water."

"What else?"

He waited until his brother had finished taking a swig before he added, in an offhand tone, "Well, toward the bottom of the stack was a book from the First Library, with a bunch of handwritten notes in the margins. He got the algorithm on the original attempt at transmutation. Not that it helped," he added as an afterthought, as the skin beneath his fingers suddenly tensed. "Mustang didn't publish enough of it to be of any use. He also worked on the Xenotime travelogue, but he didn't figure it out completely. I'd say he didn't put much thought into it." Not if the doodles were any indication.

"Our notes." Ed's voice was that dangerous, withdrawing tone, and Al ignored it, continuing to smooth the gel over the reddened shoulders in front of him.

"There's also some math . . . it's a physics worksheet, and it's pretty damn complicated. He might be skipping class because he's way beyond what we're covering."

Ed made a grumbling noise.

"So tell me about these chimera."

He worked his way slowly around to his brother's back, taking the next large leaf from the collection Ed was still holding. His back was about the same as his front; his shoulders and the nape of his neck were burned worse than anything else. There were only a few places that would need repeated attention. It really wasn't as bad as he'd feared.

"They were dead when I found them."

Well, that was a relief . . . except-

"If they were already dead, why'd you blow the phosphorus?"

He watched his brother's shoulders swell as he sighed. "Rat."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was enough. "A _rat_? You mean, a rodent? Not some kind of rat-wolf hybrid?"

"Yeah, a rat," he repeated, a little heatedly. "The place was dark, it was chewing on one of the chimera and came right at me-"

Al shook his head. "Don't tell Winry." Rats and zeppelins. She'd never let him forget it.

"Wasn't planning on it," he retorted, then his shoulders fell slightly. "Hey, did you get a letter . . .?"

Al nodded before he realized his brother couldn't see him. "What do you want to do about it?"

Ed turned his head slightly, giving Al a better view of his ears. The tops were blistered quite nicely. It was a wonder nii-san hadn't noticed yet.

"I think Doc Patterson would take a trip down there if we aske-HEY!"

Al grinned as he finished gooping aloe onto his brother's right ear. "That's right, I almost forgot. You always did hate wet willies."

"Your fingers were huge! And leather! And you always used too much water!" Ed seemed at a loss for further protests, because he immediately switched back to the subject at hand. "I'll ask him tomorrow morning."

"You know she could just refuse to be seen." Not that he figured she would. Pinako Rockbell was many things, and stubborn was at least three of them. But if they sent her a physician directly from Central, and with Winry knowing him personally . . . but then again - "I mean, he's not the most . . . uh, forceful individual." And she . . . well, she was.

He felt nii-san's spine shiver as he gently slimed the other ear. "Eugch. No, he's not, but Winry is. I think it's a better plan than trying to get her here. The train's not smooth enough." He shook his head, as if it would dislodge the feeling of the cooling gel on the tops of his ears. "Used to hurt like hell after getting my automail adjusted."

That was a fact Al knew well, and he just made a noncommittal noise as he returned to his brother's shoulders. "So, dead chimera?"

"Yeah. Some deader than others." Al could almost hear the gears turning. "If Sorn didn't transmute them, then some other alchemist had to have been down there a week minimum."

He supposed it was possible, but unlikely one would have been able to do so without being detected. If the chimera were as big as nii-san was claiming, then what were the original ingredients? And how were they kept? In that tunnel? What about food and water? Or waste? "How big was the tunnel?"

Ed shrugged, hissing when his sudden movement caused some of his skin to scrape against Al's fingernails. "Ow, dammit! I don't know. I'm sure someone else has figured that out by now, though."

"That was your fault," Al pointed out, easing a little more gel into the area he'd accidentally scratched and taking yet another leaf from the dwindling pile Ed was still holding. "You should have reported in before you came here. Mustang was worried."

"Was that who was on the phone?"

Whoops.

"Yeah." Al moved up to the skin just beneath Ed's hairline, knowing he loved to have his upper neck massaged and it would be a good distraction. "He needed to know about that vial." Then he changed his voice, making it purposefully more forceful. "I figured I'd just be leaving a message, then who should answer the phone but Colonel Hawkeye, with the most _interesting_ question on whether I'd seen my brother, who managed to _blow himself up_-"

"Shut up," his brother growled, without much heat. "I stopped at the library, which is close enough."

So that was how he knew who had last worked the grid. And when Brosh had caught sight of him. "They said Denny thought he'd seen you after the explosion, but they were still worried. Sent Havoc to the house and everything."

Ed snorted. "I'm _fine_-"

Al gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder, grinning when his brother's head turned slowly to give him a deadly glare. "I can see that. Give me another leaf."

Ed complied, and Al tried to wiggle a finger beneath the faux 'port' on his brother's right shoulder. He wasn't able to shift it very far, and couldn't tell if the thin strip of flesh he could see was red because it was burned, or because he'd just scraped it.

"Does that hurt?"

"Not really."

It was just going to have to wait, then. In actuality, it was probably more protected than the rest of him had been. "What about your legs?"

Ed shifted his flesh leg with a whisper of fabric. "Just the outside, and not bad. I'll take care of it later."

Nii-san could easily reach his own legs, and there wasn't much he could do about the knock to the head, so Al just smoothed any remaining gel flat against his brother's skin. "This stuff should be dry in a couple minutes."

Ed took that as an indication his torture was at an end, because he headed towards the desk, depositing all two strips of remaining aloe leaves on a parched-looking bookshelf along the way. Al was pleased to see the large glass of water was empty, and couldn't complain much when his brother plopped down in the desk chair, picking up the first piece of paper that caught his eye. He wasn't leaning back, so it wasn't as if he was going to get aloe on the furniture.

"Do you really think Sorn transmuted them?" Nothing on the desk, or in any of his classwork, had indicated Sorn was interested in biological transmutation. Just the opposite, really; he loved machines. Almost as much of a gearhead as Winry, really. He supposed it would make sense that Franklin could, since the human body was no more than a complex biological machine, but why? Just to test the Incomplete Stone?

But if so, why in the hell had a car full of men with guns come to visit him? Why would he bury contaminated matter beneath his own house?

Edward was already deep into the treatise on herbs, but after a long delay he roused himself enough for a reasonably coherent reply. "I don't know. Easiest way to find out would be to ask him."

Well, didn't that just fit neatly with his orders. "You know," he said thoughtfully, after a pause of the appropriate length, "that's a good idea."

For a moment, nii-san didn't register the words. "Eh?"

"He wants a Stone."

_That_ got Ed's attention. "Do you actually know that?"

Al shrugged. "He was pretty damn interested to know how we transmuted one. And he'd been pressuring Mustang before we came back. I don't think all these notes have been made in the last sixth months, nii-san. There has to be a reason. I don't think his working that grid and these chimeras are a coincidence." At the very least, working towards a Stone and being sought by men with guns made sense, vial of Craege Irving notwithstanding.

Edward frowned, actually setting the document down to concentrate more fully on him. "Al-"

"Take care of your burns, nii-san. And remember to talk to Dr. Patterson tomorrow."

"Al?"

He threw his brother an innocent look, even as he crossed the library. The place was basically in order; they'd transmuted all the bullets out of the walls and repaired the foyer, and even used the lead slugs to encapsulate the vial of contaminated materials. It sat heavy and dark in the fireplace of the living room, and even at the door to the hallway he couldn't feel the feedback. "Don't worry, I should be back in a couple days."

"Do you even know where you're going?"

Trust his brother to be thinking along the same lines. "I'll check his records." Even if Franklin had done what they had done, burned his home and left his birthplace, there would still be evidence of him. Mustang was right; whether or not Franklin was working towards a Stone or just a victim of someone else's scheme, they weren't going to find him until they'd figured him out. They knew the student Sorn, they knew the Mechanical Alchemist, but they didn't know Franklin.

There had to be someone in his hometown that would know if something horrible had happened to him. There would be evidence of some event, some memory that could explain why the boy needed a Stone so very badly. And if not, perhaps a person that had come through his hometown in the recent past, asking about him. Perhaps several. With guns.

With nii-san pretty much camped out in Sorn's house, if the kid was guilty, it wasn't like he was going to return, and if he managed to escape some predicament, he'd need protection. Ed would keep his ear to the ground in Central. If Sorn was still in the city, nii-san would find him.

And if he wasn't, one of them needed to start tracking him.

"I'll take the first train tomorrow morning. Cover my classes for me?"

He received a dirty look in return. "I see how it is. Gallivant around the country while I get stuck with all the work."

Alphonse Elric rolled his eyes and stepped into the hall. "Don't stay up too late." He wasn't badly concussed, so there were no worries on that front, and besides, if he went to see Patterson tomorrow like he said he would, the doctor would know immediately if he truly needed bedrest or not. "I'll call you tomorrow night."

He got a raised hand by way of a farewell, and his brother was already buried in the next document before Al got to the front door.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I hate this chapter. I don't know why, but I think I rewrote it about ten times. Nine of them voluntarily; Word got et this morning and I lost a couple pages. Ah well. There are a zillion mistakes, and I found half of them. Apologies for the mistakes! Next chapter, we have . . . you know, I have no idea. Next chapter is a surprise! And it'll tie back to chapter one. :hint, hint: ; )


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He could have been stepping off the train in Resembool.

There were certain differences, of course. The station was differently shaped, with a shorter platform and a larger office, and this platform's overhang actually had a belt system rigged to turn a series of ceiling fans, making the already pleasant mid-morning even more so. There were few insects, mostly buzzing gently around the petunias and geraniums that surrounded the platform, and through the office glass he could see directly down the center of the main street.

This was Jannai.

He and nii-san had never had a reason to travel to the city, which wasn't quite as far south as Resembool, and was more east. It wasn't a direct trip, either; he'd had to transfer twice, and the second train he'd caught by the seat of his pants. If he'd missed it, the next didn't run until three pm.

As it was, everything had worked out exactly right, and he was standing in Franklin Sorn's hometown a little more than four hours after he'd left Central.

Alphonse Elric moved along the platform with the few other passengers that had disembarked, noting smiling faces and simple clothes in brilliant solids. The office yielded all manner of surprises for such a small town – an automated piano was playing hymns in the corner, being pumped by a footpedal that was actually being run on the same belt and pulley system that was powering the ceiling fans both inside and out. Every bent and graying teller had their own typewriter, a design he'd not seen before, and possibly the most shocking, a small box in the corner that accepted coins and dispensed transfer tickets.

Central had just installed such a system of 'vending machine.'

Al grinned. It looked like finding people familiar with the Mechanical Alchemist was going to be refreshingly easy.

Finding the alchemist himself might prove a bit trickier.

Al exited the station office without hesitation, getting a brief lay of the land before heading towards the nearest café. Technically, it wasn't a café, since this wasn't France or even Europe and they didn't have such things, but the reality was, it was a small store that sold a limited variety of cooked and chilled foods and drinks, and it would be both affordable and an excellent place to gather a little information.

He was going in nearly blind. Thanks to military investigations still underway regarding the reported brief appearance and disappearance of the Full Metal Alchemist earlier that evening, the library was still staffed, and he was able to get the file he needed. The Academy probably had a copy, but the First Library was closer and he was hoping it would have something a little more complete.

He'd been disappointed in that area. Outside of Sorn's application for his certification and proof of citizenship, one that looked as though it had been drafted explicitly for the government and not the one issued when he was born, there wasn't much else to find. His parents had died prior to his application, and he'd listed no guardians.

Nor had any of his recommendations hinted at who his teacher might have been. Then again, he doubted any of theirs had indicated Izumi Curtis was their sensei. He certainly didn't recall putting that information on any forms.

She would have killed them.

Perhaps Franklin was in the same predicament.

He was unlikely to be in the small restaurant Al walked into, but perhaps he would get lucky. If nothing else, at least he would get lunch.

A beaming twenty-something brunette stood behind a gracefully curving glass cabinet, displaying all manner of individual fruit tarts and pastries. Somewhere, an egg frittata was cooking, and the sound of a knife being sharpened rang out from the back.

"Good morning, sweetie." Her voice was perky and friendly, and he smiled back at her. "What can I get you?"

Al pursed his lips and set down his bag, scanning the rows of confections. "I don't suppose you have anything like a bun with meat baked inside?" It was unlikely they had Hamburgers, because they obviously didn't have a Hamburg, but meat wrapped in dough was a fairly common lunch item of such places in Central, and he knew he was in luck when she flashed him a quick grin.

"I'll go see if they're ready. You got here just a mite early."

He inclined his head, but she'd already flounced into the back, and Al quietly scanned the rest of the interior space. There were a few tables, mostly with only two chairs apiece, and only one of the tables was occupied. It was a pair of elderly gentlemen, as you'd find on any porch in any small town in Amestris. He imagined their wives were busy with laundry or other chores and simply hadn't wanted them underfoot anymore. Both of them were staring at him openly, so he gave them a smile and a nod.

One of the old men grunted, either in disgust or in greeting. It was hard to tell. The other blindly but accurately reached for his coffee mug and continued staring.

Al turned his attention back to the counter in front of him. Okay, so maybe not _quite_ like Resembool.

He had been hoping that the nice young lady would make a timely reappearance with some food so he could pay and engage her in conversation, but unfortunately it didn't happen. The sounds of the knife being sharpened had stopped, so clearly something was going on back there, but second after second ticked by with a suddenly awkward silence.

Oh, well. When in Rome . . .

Of course, there was no Rome here. But the adage still rang true enough.

He turned back towards the older men, and the one that had grunted was wearing a smug expression. "Don't see many of your kind 'round these parts."

Your kind . . . ? Al blinked at him a moment before realizing the pocketwatch chain must be visible, dangling beneath his vest hem. He glanced down, fingering the lengths of silver for a moment. This was either his ticket to finding Sorn, or it was going to interfere a good deal. Even after all these years, many people still didn't want much to do with alchemists, Elrics or not. These gentlemen were old indeed. They'd remember the damage done under Bradley over the reforms Mustang had been making.

"My hometown didn't much, either," he said after a moment, dropping the chain to meet the older man's faded blue eyes. "Doesn't seem like you folks have much need for one."

"Naw," the second man suddenly spoke, his voice a little high-pitched and reedy. "Red Edward fixed us up pretty good."

. . . no way.

"Red Edward?"

The first man was looking positively gleeful. "Yep. Second youngest feller to get one of them watches of yours."

Alphonse found himself suddenly struggling with a smirk that was just _dying_ to come out. "I see. So you're familiar with Franklin Sorn?" That the town would nickname the redhead after the 'Alchemist of the People' made complete sense, given the level of mechanical technology he'd already seen. Franklin was no doubt responsible for the belt and pulley system, the vending machines, possibly even the piece of glass in the cabinet in front of him. And none of them could argue that he wasn't a child genius.

But 'Red Edward'? Had Mustang known the boy was called that?

Probably.

"Where'd you say you were from again?"

He hadn't, but he'd invited the question. It was hard to tell if these men were giving him information as a test or because they simply liked to talk, but he was betting the former over the latter. If they were half as protective of Franklin as Resembool had been of nii-san and him, a strange alchemist showing up one morning out of the blue would be treated with cautious respect.

"I grew up in Resembool. It's a little town south of here."

The first of the two men nodded, but the second looked slightly chagrined. "You don't say."

Sometimes it was nice to be recognized. Even if they were more familiar with the Full Metal Alchemist than the Binding Life Alchemist.

Soft-soled shoes whispered on the tile floor, and Al turned to find the brunette standing behind the counter, offering a steaming golden bun on a plate. "Just came out," she chirped. "That'll be a hundred cenz."

He fished the money out of his pocket, unfolding two bills and placing them on the counter. "Thank you."

"My pleasure!" She grinned at him again, and Al had the distinct impression he was being flirted with. "What brings you to our little town? We don't get many visitors. I see almost all of them, so I know," she added by way of explanation.

"This young man's looking for Red Edward," the first old man observed.

Her eyebrows rose. "Well, isn't that interesting!" She seemed to be staring past his shoulder, and Al followed her gaze to a simple wood-framed timepiece on the wall. "You've got about ten minutes, then."

Her voice was still friendly.

Al turned back to her, mildly confused. Was she telling him to get out of town . . . ? "Er . . ."

"You'll need to catch the very next train," she supplied helpfully. "It goes back to the transfer point to Central."

"He knows, Rachel," the second old man piped up. "He knows all about that school, too."

Al carefully didn't change his expression, and he took a small nibble off the bun. She'd literally just taken it out of the oven, and it was still too hot to eat. "This is wonderful."

She beamed at his comment. "Oh, thank you! It was my mother's recipe." There was little catch to her voice, but Al didn't miss it. He set the bun back down on the plate to cool, but remained standing beside the counter.

The bru-Rachel was studying him closely. "But, sir, if you're looking for little Frank Sorn, and you already know where he is-"

How much to tell them without alarming them? If these old men were regulars – they were on a first-name basis with Rachel, at any rate – and she saw all the traffic coming from the platform . . . but then again, Franklin's car was missing. He could have driven as easily as taken the train. "I'm one of his professors," he said kindly. "Franklin's been looking a little peaked lately, and has missed some classes."

Her expression didn't become overly concerned, so he continued. "His application lists his parents as deceased, but I was wondering if he had any legal guardians that could come up and stay with him for a while? He's young, and I'm afraid he's not taking care of himself as well as he should."

Rachel's lips were pressed together thoughtfully, but the first old man spoke up before she had a chance to reply. "He's a tough kid. He can take care of himself."

The second man, however, tapped his coffee mug on the table, silencing his friend. "You sure that's why you're here?" His tone was much less reedy, and much more serious, and Al focused on him.

"I'm worried about him."

The old man considered his words for some time before he replied. "Frank's parents died when Rachel's did," he finally muttered. "Kid's got nobody but Avram Blane."

His elderly friend nodded in agreement, and Al took another nibble off the bun, lest he appear too interested. "Do you know where I can find this Avram?"

The first old man shook his head. "He left when Red did. Moved up north somewhere. Nothin' tying him here anymore, I guess." His tone was sober, and he suddenly became very interested in his coffee.

Al glanced at the second man, who offered no more information, then turned back to Rachel. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

She nodded. "It's okay. There were a lot of us, so . . . we were able to support each other. And of course, there were always nice young men like Bert and Zack to help us along." She sent the two old men a very playful grin, and the first ignored her while the second one grunted. "Don't let them fool you. Hearts of gold, these two."

Bert – or possibly Zack – snorted indelicately. "You're getting that silver tongue from Arei. Watch that boy, young lady. He'll talk you out of your knickers if you aren't careful."

She sucked in a quick, angry breath in the same manner of women worlds over. "How-Zack!" she admonished, turning bright red. "That was just plumb mean!"

Alphonse stuffed his mouth full of his lunch, trying to hide a sudden grin as the second old man winked at him. "Don't want me saying so in front of company, eh, Rachel?"

"Forget what I said," she snarled. "They're just cranky old men with one thing on their minds."

Al found himself inhaling rather than swallowing his next bite, and Rachel had looped the counter by the time he managed to clear his airways.

"Goodness! Honey, you okay?"

Al tried to swallow and nod at the same time, which didn't really work out, and suddenly a cool, smooth glass was being pressed into his hand. He drank gratefully – water was the same as in Resembool, too, maybe from the some underground aquifer? – and it was only a moment more before he had his composure.

They were pretty frank, too. Just like Resembool.

So Avram Blane was somewhere in the north. That wasn't very helpful, but it was a start. He could probably call Central and have him tracked down by tax record . . . of course, nii-san should have been covering his classes, so he'd be tied up. His next most likely target was Sheska – but he wasn't supposed to be talking about this assignment with anyone but Mustang and Hawkeye. Obviously he couldn't ask the colonel to do his legwork for him, but surely he hadn't come all the way here just to have to run back to Central for a record . . . ?

"Gave me quite a fright! You just have a seat there and drink your water."

He was led to one of the empty tables the way a fussy parent might escort their child, and in no time he found himself neatly arranged with the other half of his lunch and his glass of water in front of him. She was hovering and twisting her hands, so he gave her a reassuring smile, but it didn't have quite the effect it used to.

"Oh, I'll have to change the recipe!" she wailed, and turned suddenly, hurrying back around the counter into the back.

What . . . ?

Zach came to his rescue. "A month ago tomorrow Leah choked to death right here in the store," he muttered. "Eatin' one of them buns. Her mum passed after making a batch, but of course it had nothing to do with that. She's just a superstitious soul is all."

"Her courtin' Arei is the problem," Bert confirmed, a little darkly. "He's no help at all."

Al looked back down at the bun a moment. Outside of having a slightly crustier breading around the meat, it was the same as any other. His had been less of a problem with chewing and more a problem with the topic of conversation.

"And Leah should have known better," Zach continued. "Always after the bread, and with no tongue it waren't no surprise."

Bert nodded in agreement. "Sweet girl, though."

"Excuse me. Did you say she had no tongue?" He supposed it was rude to ask, but having never encountered a tongueless person before, hearing about two in less than a year was a little bizarre. But of course it couldn't be the same girl, since nii-san said he had killed her. Hadn't he said her name was Cassie?

Zach nodded carefully, still keeping his cracking voice low. "The Ishbalans did it. Killed the whole lot of 'em during some pagan festival out in the east woods about two years back now."

"She was the only one to survive it." Bert's lips were thin. "They bit out her tongue so she couldn't call out, but she got away from 'em. Ran into a couple of local boys before the red-eyes could catch her. Saved her life, them boys did."

Al gaped at them. Ishbalans? Attacking a group of citizens this far into Amestris, as recently as the last two years? That was . . . borderline ridiculous. Parliament had repaired ties with the Ishbalans half a decade ago.

The old men misinterpreted his expression. "They're vicious," Zach growled, casting a cautious eye on the door to ensure Rachel wasn't returning yet. "She was so scared, she never spoke at all after telling them who done it to her. Lived in a house by herself after that. Avram fixed her up best he could, but there waren't nothing he could do."

"That . . . how did she tell you who it was, if she couldn't speak? Did she write it down?"

Bert shook his head. "Naw. She couldn't write. Wasn't a local, see. They'd just come through for the festival, about forty or so of 'em. What you call drifters. We weren't too happy havin' 'em in town, truth be told. Some crops might go missing occasionally when they were around."

They sounded just like nii-san's gypsies, Al thought sadly. For the first time in a long time, he wondered how Noah was faring. If the Nazis ever got hold of her, she could expect worse than getting her tongue cut out.

"She just said something that sounded like it. Least that's what the boys said. She never spoke of it again."

"Did you contact the authorities?" Was there some record of this? Had anyone been questioned regarding it?

The old men nodded, but turned interested eyes to their coffee when the hiss of slippered feet carried across the tiles. Rachel came into view a scant second later, bright smiles again.

"I'm so sorry," she gushed instantly, folding her hands nervously on top of the glass counter. "It's just, we had a customer-"

Al stalled her by holding up a hand. If she was that disturbed about it, there was no point in making her explain it. Though it would be good to get someone else's point of view.

"It's okay. It's really an excellent bun. I think you should keep making them this way."

Pagan ritual or no, even one taking Ishbala's name in vain, he could not imagine Scar biting someone's tongue out. The man was a murderer, which was already against the teachings of Ishbala, and while he had been vengeful and ruthless, he hadn't been unnecessarily cruel. Not like that.

And he'd claimed he was the worst of his kind. Marauding Ishbalans killing villagers . . .

He blinked. Two years ago.

That would have put Franklin at thirteen.

Could that be why . . .? Did he want a Stone so he could resurrect the villagers that had been killed? But if they were strangers, why would he be so driven?

They said Avram Blane had seen the girl, at least. Maybe it was worth checking into this as well, while he was here. He could take the train back out, research both topics –

But it was such a huge waste of time. Particularly if Franklin Sorn was wandering around with Incomplete Stone. Or worse, the prisoner of someone else who was.

"The woods," he started, then almost grimaced. How to word this without upsetting Rachel . . . "I don't suppose you could point me in the right direction?"

The old men glanced at each other through their thick white brows, and Zach took a swig of lukewarm coffee.

"I reckon Arei could show you. Don't know why you'd want to see the place, though. It was investigated and all, even by one of you folks. Nothin' came of it."

Al nodded, downing the rest of the bun and chasing it with the water. "Is there some way I can find him?"

"Just wait here. He usually comes by to shamelessly flirt in the afternoons."

"Zachariah Bindlow!"

The old man ducked, as if he expected something to be thrown at him, and a glance showed that Rachel was definitely considering casting around for a missile. "Takes one to know one, you know!"

"If you won't behave I'll ring up your missus-"

"Oo! Below the belt, girl! Show your elder some respect."

Al raised his hand tentatively. "Ah," he interrupted, and when he had their attention, he continued. "Do you know where I can find a phone?" It wasn't . . . _exactly_ in line with Mustang's gag order, but he was pretty sure he'd just come up with a way to get his information without having to leave town.

With any luck, he'd know where Avram Blane lived by the time he returned with this 'Arei' from the attack site.

- x -

"And how are we feeling this morning?"

The man who had just entered the office glanced down, his usual Thursday morning scowl in place, and he softened it with the traditional effort.

"I'm fine. You?"

"Very well, thank you." He was carrying four unlabeled envelopes, so she offered him a hand and, per their normal routine, he surrendered them. The envelopes held the weeks' test scores, to be posted to the board the following morning. Professor Elric believed very much in public triumph – or humiliation.

Usually it was humiliation.

Pasie Dueys would normally now say something offhand about his schedule, or changes therein, but considering the sergeant now posted in the corner like some kind of excessively poorly-designed coatrack, she felt that would be an error. If the professor wanted to hide later, discussing his schedule now would only add difficulty to the cowardly attempt.

However, his schedule was quite a bit different from the usual one. He could need reminding. He was never late for a class, even if he was covering for his brother.

"How is it that we are the one injured, yet our brother is the one absent?"

Professor Elric gave an irritated huff, staring at the silent soldier a moment before turning back to her. "You know Al. Distracted by every shiny thing he sees. Go ahead and cancel his ten o'clock class, would you? I won't be able to cover it."

That was odd. Edward didn't teach a ten o'clock on Thursdays.

She consulted her class scheduler just to be sure, but there it was, plain as day. Edward Elric had a one hour break between 'Behavior of Atmospheric Gases' and 'Basic Alchemical Principles.' Alphonse Elric, on the other hand, had classes straight through on Thursdays, beginning at eight am with 'Elements and their Properties' and ending at two pm with the same. His ten o'clock was the very popular 'Basic Arrays.' It was one of the few classes required for the physicists, and had been given to Alphonse Elric for the very simple reason that he was actually willing to _demonstrate_ the arrays, rather than merely explain their principles.

Perhaps there was a reason Edward Elric was conveniently finding something else to do during that time frame.

She gave him a sideways look and he frowned at her. "I'll be at the HQ hospital if anything . . . interesting happens." For his part, the professor gave the soldier another dark look and then spun on his heels, heading back out of the office.

Pasie inclined her head politely, though she knew he couldn't see it. He thought it would only take one hour to treat his injuries? "I would be happy to. Do be careful," she called after him, and then the door closed, effectively isolating the office from the bustle of passing scientists.

For a moment, the administrative offices were quite silent, and Pasie consulted her calendar again. Alphonse's ten o'clock was normally held in a large lecture hall, so all she'd have to do was post a notice on the four doors leading in to effectively cancel the class. Easily done.

Mira Bansk scuttled up to her desk, intent on one of the four unmarked envelopes. It was her job to take the copy of the master score list and copy it yet again for their permanent records before allowing the first copy to be taken to the student library on the second floor, where any student could peruse the records of every physicist and alchemist that had ever attended the Academy. As it had been open less than a year, the current student body was the only one, but five or six years from now, such record-keeping could save the administrative staff a good deal of time.

That they would undoubtedly spend doing exactly what they were doing now. Trying to see if Mira could guess the right envelope. They were all the same thickness, so one never knew which envelope held which piece of information until they were open. Mira was fancying herself a bit of a psychic, however, so this was a Thursday ritual designed to test how much more 'attuned' she was to the 'natural energies' that flowed around whatever item she was concentrating upon.

Mira sighed lightly, her stubby fingers waving over the envelopes as if the one she wanted would give a twitch or a puff of heat to give itself away. "You drag your feet much longer, and the opportunity will be gone."

Mira was whispering so the new 'furniture' wouldn't hear. Of all the places to permanently station an officer, their office had to be the most boring. The most inconvenient all around, really.

"I know," Paise answered softly, and watched Mira pluck up the second of the four envelopes.

- x -

The stump-like woman behind the round Admitting desk gave him an approving sort of look.

"I wondered when we'd see you again."

She might not even know his name; the first and only two times he'd been an official patient in the hospital he'd been admitted while unconscious. And he had no doubt he wasn't the only automail-bearing patient they had. True, he was the only State Alchemist that was also an automail user, but he hadn't had to flash that credential. He'd simply asked to see Dr. Patterson.

That was probably a clue, though. Doc Patterson had been keeping the alchemists under a close eye, and while usually Ed simply bypassed Admitting altogether and went to the doctor's office directly, he knew better than to do so unannounced. It would be rude, and he was here to ask a favor, not to get stuck with another needle full of 'vitamins and something else I cooked up in medical school.'

Though that was probably going to be unavoidable. Payment for the favor; the doc was learning all about 'equivalent exchange' and he was starting to apply what he'd learned.

She was looking him up and down, but he knew for a fact the only damage she could see was what appeared to be a slight sunburn on his face. He was wearing gloves, and his slightly shorter hair was still managing to do a decent job of hiding the blisters on his ears. Outside of what appeared to be trimmed eyebrows, he probably looked completely fine.

Of course, he _was_ completely fine. Outside of a little headache and a lot of cussing in the shower, he was relatively unscathed. He'd lived through worse at half this age. At least Ms. Dueys hadn't ladled out the concern in front of that soldier; Hakuro was probably pissed enough that he still hadn't reported to give his account of the event last night.

Hadn't had time. He'd fallen asleep at Franklin's, and had woken with just enough time to hire a cab home, shower, throw on some clothes, and squeak into his nine o'clock class. He doubted the younger alchemist had been home while he'd slept, though; after Al had left he'd set a series of silent little traps throughout the house. An intruder wasn't likely to notice an index card falling to the floor behind them, but Ed would see the evidence. He'd done it as a precautionary measure in case he'd run out of time in the morning, but when he'd woken they'd all still been set.

They'd also let him know if Franklin – or someone else – had made a trip through the house while he was here or taking care of covering their classes.

"I'll need you to sign the following forms." Her voice brought him back from his musings, and a short, round arm offered a clipboard that was trembling under the weight of the solidified wood pulp clamped in its overstuffed metal clip.

Edward just stared at it. "I'm not checking in."

She didn't lower the clipboard, but her expression became slightly less friendly. "This is from the last two visits. Some of the forms are duplicates, in which case we only need one copy-"

The State had paid for his health care both times, and he'd just assumed they'd completed the required forms as well. Apparently not. And that she'd had it all together, waiting for him-

"I'll pick them up on my way out."

She gave him a toady smile. "I'm afraid Dr. Patterson is going to be indisposed until these forms have been signed."

Pushy broad.

He shrugged, hiding the wince that scraping his still-sore skin on the fabric of his shirt caused, and walked past her into the hospital proper. He could hear her picking up the phone, but she didn't follow him.

It wasn't the same building as it had been when he'd been a child. This wasn't necessarily a new building, either; if he had to guess he'd say it had once been administrative offices that had been renovated. The four story structure was quite nice, with wide, airy hallways and windows wherever they could be squeezed in. Medical advances in the last six or so years had certain been a driving factor in the changes. Some of the German hospitals had been much like this one, though it was obvious Europe was still far ahead, as far as the science of health was concerned.

There were more people, after all. And many more legal experiments performed to tell them the limits of the human body and mind-

With a frown he stepped into the elevator, pressing the thick, black button marked '3' in silver lettering. Just the reminder of where he was going shot an ache through his right shoulder, and he shifted it absently within the armor. It would probably hurt him for years to come. The scars on his back now were minimal, a testament to the doctor's skill, but there was nothing more he could do about the bone damage Ed had suffered at the hands of Craege Irving.

There wasn't much Patterson could do about the other, either. Despite the various solutions the doc had injected into him or made him swallow, the tightness he felt while transmuting hadn't changed. Whether it was an inner Gate or not, it seemed to be far out of the reach of Amestrian medicine.

And that was fine.

The doors parted on the third floor and he stepped out. Because Patterson had been only a first year when he'd originally been given the dubious task of assessing the unknown injuries of a highly classified patient, the fact that he'd almost instantly become the Full Metal Alchemist's physician of choice had given the doctor no small amount of fame. That had been compounded when he'd been allowed to treat the Prime Minister, mostly because the two of them had been brought into the clinic at the same time. Now he was officially the Prime Minister's personal physician as well, and as such, times when he could be caught cooling his heels in his office were long past.

Without getting the okay from the lovely woman in Admitting, Ed was risking knocking on the door and interrupting a meeting with who knew who. He doubted the doctor would disapprove of the interruption, but if he was meeting with one of the generals . . .

Well, then he'd be pulled into a debrief, free time or not. He couldn't avoid it forever, and there wasn't much reason to; Edward was as curious to read their findings as the military would be to hear how he'd found the dead chimeras. He just didn't want to be late for his next class, and a debriefing would definitely delay him. Hours.

Then again, that was assuming they actually _could_ debrief him. Since he wasn't technically ranked anymore, but was still a State Alchemist, he wasn't sure whether he was a civilian or not.

"Good god!"

Ed glanced to his right, and then rolled his eyes at the dark-haired speaker, who had clapped a hand to his chest and thoroughly alarmed the nurse beside him.

Looked like the doc was easier to find than he'd hoped.

"Sandy, get me a chair! And some smelling salts! And a calendar, too – we need to write this down."

Edward scowled at the good-natured teasing, wandering over to the young doctor and shaking his hand when within an appropriate distance.

"I figured I'd be seeing you last night, after your brother clubbed you over the head to bring you here," Patterson noted, his bright eyes taking Edward in from eyebrows to toes. "You've looked worse."

"Thanks," Ed drawled, preferring to watch the curious nurse, who inexplicably began to blush hotly and suddenly found something down the hall very interesting. He followed her retreat as the man in front of him chuckled.

"They rarely see you conscious with good color. Who should I thank for ordering you in today?"

Momentarily distracted, Ed refocused on the doctor. "No one. I'm not here for a checkup, actually. I need to ask you a favor."

"Well aren't you in luck!" the doctor cried amiably, fishing the dreaded tiny flashlight out of his coat pocket. "We're having a two for one sale. You will be receiving both!"

Edward glared death at him, but as usual, Patterson seemed oblivious. Somewhat against his will, Edward was taken by the arm and propelled down the hall, away from the patients' ward and towards the physician offices. "Really, I'm fine-"

"I can see that," the doctor admitted in a lower tone. "But I'm dying for an excuse to get away from Chamber Speaker Durnd, and it's more than partially your fault. Tell me if I'm hurting you."

It took Edward a second to realize the doctor was referring to his grip on his flesh arm. "It's fine."

In no time the two men were settling into the familiar leather armchairs in the large, comfortable office of Timothy Patterson, M.D. Not that anyone Ed knew, even Heymans, called Patterson by anything other than, well, Patterson. Or Doc. Or sometimes just 'P.' He'd never even known the man's first name until he'd come to the offices for the mandatory 'supplements' and read it on the brass plate adorning the large pine desk.

"So, how can I help you? Must be serious to bring you voluntarily to a place like this."

"Do you remember Pinako Rockbell?"

He watched Patterson's eyes shift to the right sightlessly as he searched his memory. ". . . Rockbell, but not Winry . . . I'm afraid not. Is she related?"

Edward nodded. "Pinako is Winry's grandmother." Patterson leaned onto his elbows, silently encouraging Ed to continue. "She's . . . old." It was so odd to say, when he was leaving off the hag or shrimp. Because then it was serious. Then it became an accurate description of the 'Panthress of Resembool.' "Gotta be in her seventies by now. She fell, I don't really know how, but it was weeks ago. Winry says she's still limping heavily, and thinks she may have broken her hip or her leg."

The doctor was nodding, but when Edward didn't continue, he looked a little confused. "And she was seen, so they know which one she broke . . .?"

Ed grimaced, and Patterson stared at him flatly.

"They couldn't figure it out?" Then he amended himself. "Well, it's a small town, Ed, it's not that unusual that the local physician might be a bit overwhelmed with a compound fracture."

"She wasn't seen by the local physician." He decided not to mention _why_ Pinako had no faith in Resembool's doctor.

Patterson cocked his head to the side, slightly, like a curious child. "May I ask why? Surely with Winry stuffing you into new armor every so often they're buried in cash."

"She isn't impressed with the local guy. I was hoping you would agree to make a house call."

He watched the doctor take a deep breath, and when it was released, it was doubtlessly a sigh. "I'd be honored to," he started regretfully, "but I can't. Durnd is due in surgery tomorrow, and I need to be here for a couple days post-op to keep an eye on him."

Edward kept his protests to himself. In a hospital full of doctors, he couldn't give a single patient to someone else . . .? But Ed knew it was selfish; the logic worked both ways. In a whole city, he couldn't have asked any other doctor?

"And if it's already been weeks, if there are bone fragments . . . she needs to be seen immediately, Edward."

Ed just nodded, keeping his disappointment off his face with a small smile. "I know."

The doctor averted his eyes, grabbing a pad of paper off the corner of his desk and rooting around in the large chest pocket of his coat for a pen. "However, there's certainly something we can do about the pain . . ." He trailed off thoughtfully, then abruptly stood.

"Would you be so kind as to follow me?"

The doctor was already circling the desk, so Edward picked himself up out of the chair and followed. He noted Patterson's appraising look as he did so; the doctor was watching how he moved. Even now, trying to assess whether he'd been more badly injured in the explosion than he was letting on.

He was a good doctor, and someone Edward thought of as a friend. If he said he couldn't go, he couldn't.

"I can't go myself, and once we're talking about someone in their seventies, with trauma inflicted such a long time ago –" The doctor was almost babbling to himself. "Of course, his bedside manner is crap, and he made half the fellows cry their first rotation with him. But you'll like him."

Ah. He must be talking about another doctor.

Ed wondered if there was an insult hidden in the insinuation that he would like someone with a terrible bedside manner.

"He really is quite an ass," Patterson continued in a low voice, hurrying them down the hallway to the stairwell. They quickly tramped down one floor, coming out on two and heading back towards the administrative offices. "If he's keeping the same schedule he did two years ago, he should be in his office."

"You studied under this guy?"

The doctor glanced at him over his shoulder, and there was something much like a smirk playing across his mouth. "He's the reason I went into automail as a specialty. He knows his stuff." Patterson started paying attention to room numbers. "Winry's grandmother isn't otherwise frail, is she?"

Now it was Edward's turn to smirk. "No. She still makes automail, and she still scares me."

"Ah," the doctor murmured. "That's excellent, then. Here we are."

He knocked twice, very politely, on the wooden door and then turned the knob and entered. The room beyond appeared dark; the blinds had been drawn and the only light spilled from a small but surprisingly powerful desk lamp. Just behind it was a pair of whitish, perfectly round eyes, spaced exactly the same as the chimera's bad been-

And then the doctor's head shifted, and his glasses were no longer catching the reflection of the lamplight.

"What." There was the briefest of pauses as the doctor they'd just disturbed looked them over. "I thought you graduated already. Not that I would have passed you, if it were up to me," he grumbled as an afterthought.

Patterson seemed to fall back just a bit, but his voice was slightly louder than usual to make up for it. "Good morning, Dr. Ackernath. I'd like to introduce you to a former patient of mine, Edward Elric."

"The automail alchemist," the elderly doctor muttered, and then he stood. He was even shorter than Ed was, by almost a head, and had to be close to seventy himself. His fingers were thick and knotted with age, but absolutely steady as he put down the piece of film he'd been examining. "Sliced to a bone he shouldn't have, if I recall."

Patterson had the good grace to grimace, and Ed tried not to look at him. So much for secrecy with the 'automail' . . .

"Er, yes, doctor." Patterson's voice was meek.

"Tell me, son, how's the shoulder?" There wasn't a single drop of sincere concern in the voice. He might as well have been complaining about the types of vinegar the cafeteria stocked.

"It's fine," Ed replied in much the same tone, and beside him, he was almost sure he'd heard Patterson groan quietly.

"So why's he here?"

"He has a . . . well, not really a relative, per se-"

"Is this not relative here?"

Patterson took a tentative step forward. "No, actually, that's why we're-"

"Then it's a waste of time and you know it. You want a consult, you bring me a broken bone."

"I was hoping you'd go and see the patient yourself."

"What?" The old man barked out a laugh. "Are you mad?"

"She may be badly injured, and given the description I don't think we should put her on a train to Central-"

"She's not even in the city?" Another laugh, a bit sharper and shorter. "You'd have me out in the sticks, using . . . what, a rock to diagnose my patient? I don't suppose she can pay for it, either-"

"Of course she can, I just need someone to diagnose her-"

"Then do it yourself," the old man snapped, turning back to his film.

Dr. Patterson visibly held back another sigh, and Edward decided to speak. Patterson was relatively easy to railroad, after all; they'd all done it to him at some point. Obviously this former teacher had long ago learned how to verbally assault his peers.

"I'll pay you twice your usual fee." He said it in an offhand manner, as if the deal was already done. If Patterson was going to brave this kind of personality, this old man was probably very good in his field. And if he'd taught Patterson about automail, or at least pointed him at the specialty-

"She's an automail mechanic in Resembool," he continued, and noticed that the old doctor's eyes were no longer moving across his piece of film. "She had a pretty bad fall a few weeks ago, and the doctor in town's worthless."

Ackernath made a dismissive noise in his throat, but he was no longer focused on the film. After another second he dropped it on the desk with a growl.

"Symptoms."

Ed hesitated, casting his mind back to Winry's letter. "Er-limping-"

"Of course she's limping!" the man snapped, then sighed and scrubbed his face vigorously. "Nevermind. An automail mechanic, you say?"

Edward held up his right hand. "Made the first set I ever wore."

"What'd the quack who saw her diagnose her with?"

Hmm. With this kind of attitude, he probably would be more attracted to the truth than a lie. "Wasn't seen. Isn't complaining about it, either. I heard about it through a letter from her granddaughter."

Ackernath looked up sharply, studying his face in the dim. "Not treated at all?" He scoffed. "She's fine. No woman would lug around a broken bone for weeks without getting something for the pain."

"This one would."

The old doctor seemed to mull that over for a minute. "Resembool, you say?" he barked suddenly.

So he had been listening.

Edward nodded.

"Twice the fee. Done. If it's bad she'll need to come back here, no refusals. Acceptable?" If it didn't sound like he'd just made a deal with a butcher for the delivery of fifty racks of lamb, it might have brought a smile to Ed's lips. As it was . . . but no. If they sent her a doctor, particularly one as blunt as this guy, surely Granny Pinako would realize she needed to come in for surgery. He and Al could go down and physically insist, if they had to.

Ed inclined his head. "You'll be heading out tomorrow?"

Ackernath glanced at his desk clock, whose back was to Edward. "No need. Train heading south leaves in a few hours. Patterson, since you're not doing anything useful, take this." He handed over the piece of film, which looked totally black to Ed's eyes. "It better be reduced to a hairline when I return."

Patterson accepted the film, seeming at a loss for words. "Don't you want a patient history-"

"Automail mechanic for the Full Metal Alchemist. How many of them can there be in a no-name town like Resembool?"

It wasn't such a no-name town, as two famous alchemists had grown up there, but he let it slide. "I'll phone ahead and let them know you're on your way."

"I like beef stews," he replied, and without another word he strode past them firmly, like a man no older than fifty, wrenching open his own office door. "Get out. I need to pack."

Edward obeyed, and the very second Patterson, who followed, had cleared the doorjamb, it slammed. Patterson laughed aloud, sounded delighted.

"Well, that's excellent. She'll be in great hands, Edward."

Edward contemplated their first meeting, and mirrored the doctor's smile. If only those hands knew what they were getting themselves into. Particularly if the old man showed up demanding stew.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Sorry for the delay, guys! Work is beating me to death with a broken shovel. But look at the length and quality! No explosions, but I needed to lay a little groundwork. Next chapter I need to lay a little more. It'll be more interesting than this was. Of course, three or so chapters from now it'll pick up in a big way, and then I'll have to quiz you guys to see if anyone noticed the clues . . .

As usual, posted without a beta. I apologize in advance for the typos! I found what I could on a read-through, and didn't find much, so it's just riddled. If you notice anything, please let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

It wasn't that the First Library was unusually crowded. It was the people inside it that made it seem that way.

The central tables were the place where most alchemists did their public research. They were easy to get to, easy for the librarians to bring requested references to, and offered a truly impressive amount of real estate. They had been all gathered together and were almost buried under a very thin coating of papers. A pair of blue uniforms bustled around them.

Neither of them were alchemists.

In fact, neither of them were even librarians.

Her long blonde hair had been clipped up crisply per her usual, but hours of research had loosened it as efficiently as a thorough make-out session might have. Her partner in crime was probably having _more_ fun than a fictitious make-out session, but even she looked a bit frazzled.

No wonder Al had said they were 'too busy.' Too busy was an understatement.

"Colonel," he greeted, when his shadow in the doorway caused her to glance up. "Decide to become an alchemist and enroll in the Academy?"

Colonel Riza Hawkeye gave him a brief but sincere smile, tapping her stack of documents on its edge to re-align the papers. "I don't suppose you're incredibly bored and would like to assist?"

He gave her an easy smile in return, coming to the corner of the table island and glancing at the rows and rows of neat documents labeled 'Personnel Records' and 'Classified.'

"I don't suppose I have the clearance, even if I had the time."

The colonel surveyed her handiwork as Sergeant Sheska made a triumphant little chirp and, with uncanny skill, caused a sheet of paper to drift at seeming random across the table, landing squarely on one of the three dozen piles.

"I don't suppose you'd decide to become a State Alchemist in the next twenty or so minutes? It comes with a rank of major . . ."

"Gee, with an offer like that, how could a guy refuse."

Riza's grin lingered far longer this time. "We're not taking up your usual study space, I hope?"

Fletcher re-assessed the island as Sheska made a quick loop. "Nope. Even if you were, I think I'd let you have it. What is all this?"

Hawkeye took the top document from her pile, reaching gracefully three documents in to place it neatly on another short stack. "Background checks of the Prime Minister's staff."

She said it so nonchalantly Fletcher found himself nodding absently before it sank in. Background checks . . .?

She tapped her collection of documents on its edge again as two stapled ones tried to escape. "It's hardly routine, but this is just preliminary, and required of all government staff."

Technically he figured it ought to have been done when the staff was hired, but the new paranoia around Central was probably the reason for this. And while someone like General Hakuro or the House Speaker could just rattle off such a simple-sounding task, it was officers like the colonel and sergeant that would spend a couple days completing it while reminding themselves not to rip their hair out.

Then again, Riza couldn't have picked a happier officer to be stuck doing busywork with. "And you wonder why I don't want to be a National Alchemist."

The colonel apparently had no retort, and he watched the activity a moment longer before remembering his purpose. "I need to look something up. I'll catch you on the way out?"

He received eye contact and a nod, and with a quick wave at the oblivious sergeant, he proceeded past the reference desk towards the back of the first floor. He and Russ had spent enough time in this library – hell, they'd helped rebuild it – that he knew exactly where he was going. Many of the older documents had had copies stored in the Second Library, which weren't nearly as easy to get hold of but were accessed so rarely there had been no point in storing them in the cluttered First Library. When it had burned, those copies had been a lifesaver – the tax records of thousands of citizens had been one of the collections spared the fire's destruction.

And it was tax records he wanted.

Alphonse Elric hadn't explicitly told him why, or even where to look, but if he wanted to track down a non-certified alchemist by name, and didn't want to take a week to do it, he was much better off perusing the state's tax records than the many journals and diaries of certified alchemists that might have run into their non-certified brethren. He knew for a fact he was mentioned all over the place; in Russ's papers, the Elrics' travelogues, the incident with Mugwar, his arrest for impersonating a State Alchemist-

But he could search police and military reports all year and not find one reference to any Avram Blane. Nope, the best place to look was at tax records. All he had to do was scan a single year from that part of the country, and he'd find the man's name.

Death and taxes. The only two absolutes in this world.

The rebuilt First Library was quite a bit larger than its original, with two more floors above and a deeper basement. Because of that, it was currently housing the Second Library's records while that building was thoroughly cleaned and renovated. It meant the back of the first floor was a little crowded, but the documents were still meticulously sorted.

All Al really wanted was an address, and he'd said the guy used to be Sorn's sensei, so he should probably look up the records from at least four years ago and go from there. Locating Jannai's records took him a little while, but eventually a slightly decomposing box revealed itself on one of the shelves. The guy apparently didn't live in Jannai anymore, but he had to have lived there in the last five. If he wasn't in the 1918 box, it was probably going to be later, not earlier.

Since he had a last name of 'Blane,' he would be right in the front. Easy to find-

Quite abruptly, an entire stack of boxes suddenly animated themselves and shot around the corner, and even more shockingly, they bowled right into him.

Fletcher abandoned his box, letting it tip and catching it with his left hip as he struggled with the fifty pounds of records that had been suddenly thrust upon him. The boxes gave a startled squeak and would have collapsed if not for his efforts. As it was, eventually some mousy brown hair and the rim of round glasses peeked around a trembling corner, and Fletcher shifted further, trying to slide his arms under the boxes as they tipped dangerously to the left.

"Mr. Tringum?"

Sergeant Sheska was possibly the one person on the planet that referred to him that way.

He grunted an affirmative and helped her lower her unstable stack to the ground. It was only five tall, but it was an unwieldy bundle for such a short woman. She was panting but her eyes were unnaturally bright, and there was no weariness in her movements.

No, Sheska was in her element. This was probably a grand adventure considering her usual office duties.

"I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see you there!"

"I'm sure you didn't," he agreed, making sure to over-emphasize his already good-natured tone. The boxes had been stacked far over her head. "Aren't there librarians who would just love to re-shelve these records for you?"

The look she gave him was sympathetic – and almost patronizing. "The reference librarians are too busy to worry about reshelving these right now, and we might need to access them later. This way I know they've been put away properly."

Having lived with Russ all his life, Fletcher could appreciate the idea that when you put something down, you might reasonably expect it to still be where you left it when you next needed it. "You guys are running checks into people's taxes?"

She took the top box from the stack, bustling around the bookcase to slip it into its place. "Finance reports are stored with the tax information for easier retrieval." He supposed that made sense; if you wanted one, chances were you wanted the other as well. Luckily for him, all he was doing was getting an address.

As Sheska – and he – were no longer in physical danger, Fletcher turned back to his own box of records, pawing through the first couple hundred pages. He was already in the F's.

Jannai was obviously a pretty small town.

He backtracked as Sheska peered interestedly over his shoulder. "Sir? That information is classified . . ."

Fletcher just raised an eyebrow and kept digging. "Really?" He was fully prepared to pretend he didn't know that, and even if not, he had been pressed into service by none other than a lieutenant colonel – they'd need to plan a party for Al's promotion, he reminded himself. He was allowed to use the library since all the Academy students had been granted passes, but he knew damn well that free pass only stretched so far.

If the physicists realized this sort of information was lying around in boxes in the back of the library where almost no one ever went . . . well, the practical jokes being played on the alchemists would probably get a lot uglier. It was better they stick with flash-bangs and chemicals and leave personal information out of things.

And as soon as the restoration of the Second Library was complete, it would go back to being secure. So he didn't feel _too_ bad about breaking the rules, in this instance.

Yep. Russ was a bad influence on him.

And so was Al . . . when had he gotten so . . . sneaky?

"Yes, only military and government personnel have access." She wasn't exactly pulling him away, but she was starting to use her agitated librarian voice.

Too late. He pulled a folder of documents from the box, noting the faded label. Blane, Avram.

"I just need an address," he remarked contritely, flipping open the folder and glancing. Yep, the alchemist had lived in Jannai four years ago – and there was his tax ID number, plain as day. 5289754, 5289754 . . .

He replaced the folder, stuffing the box back onto the shelf. With that tax ID number, he could ask the reference librarians to pull this year's tax information, which wasn't yet public domain. It was the most recent information Central could possibly have, the best Al could hope for.

"Whose address?"

Al had explicitly said that he hadn't asked Sheska because he knew she was so busy. The moment he gave her any information he knew that overactive brain of hers would be thumbing through her mental set of records to find the information, and Alphonse had been right. She was busy.

"Just trying to track down a non-certified alchemist. He was doing some work with using tubers as filters for toxic substances, but never wrote a paper." Hah. So she couldn't try to wrack her brain for him. "I just wanted to write him an invitation to Central, to discuss his work."

Sheska just stared at him a moment, as if in shock, then glanced around them surreptitiously. She lowered her head quite a bit further, and Fletcher resisted rolling his eyes as he copied her.

"I've been looking up addresses all morning," she confessed in a whisper, and watched him with magnified eyes.

Fletcher stared at her a moment, wondering where the comment was heading. When she didn't say anything else, he felt his eyebrows raise. "Uh . . .okay."

"You were looking for addresses in that box," she added. She was pointing to the correct box, so he nodded, slowly so as not to startle the shorter woman.

She gazed at him as if expecting him to say something grand, so he licked his lips. "Uh, sergeant? Why are we whispering?"

"Because!" She hushed herself, ducking down even lower into the small fort of records that was formed around them. "They've all been here!"

Fletcher just continued looking at her. ". . the records . . .?"

"The addresses!" It was a hiss. "All from the south! All of them! Did you know that Major Breda was born in Libar?"

Libar was a rather small town, south-central Amestris really, and it wasn't too surprising. It was a lower class working town, and he knew Breda had known hard work before he'd come into the military. That was where the slightly slovenly man had learned his lazy ways, despite having a keen mind. He'd cheated more than a few officers out of their wages on the other side of a chess board thanks to it.

"No?"

"Yes!" She seemed elated that he'd caught on. "And Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery was born in Bithport! And Dr. Timothy Patterson in Arturu!"

. . . what kind of staff investigations were they carrying out? Breda and Fuery he understood; they were part of Hawkeye's staff. But the doc . . .? Why would Hawkeye be digging into his past-

Of course. Any and all staff that had ties to Roy Mustang, for the purposes of absolving them. Which meant –

Which meant Sheska probably already had pulled the file on nii-san and him. The alchemists had access to Roy, so they'd be checked into as well.

Hadn't there been an announcement about it the other day at the academy . . . military presence and routine checks . . .?

Fletcher hid a wince. If Sheska was able to dig up anything related to their escapades eight or so years ago, he and Russ were in deep, deep shit with the military. And would probably be fined by the State. Of course, Mustang knew almost all of it, since most of their more illegal activities had tied almost directly with the Elrics, who had been reporting to him at the time-

And were still reporting to him. And speaking of the Elrics, he really did need to give Alphonse a call back.

"So . . . what? You think the military's being taken over by the southern Amestrians? Or the Parliament?"

Sheska gave a shaky sigh of relief. "You see it too?!"

Fletcher straightened. "No, I don't," he replied, in a slightly louder tone. "If that were true, all the female officers would be in miniskirts by now." At least if Breda and Patterson were both from the same area of the country, it could explain how their wacky friendship got started in the first place. In fact-

"How is Major Breda?" He hadn't seen either Breda or Fuery, actually, in several weeks. He knew they were both out of the hospital, and he knew Patterson wouldn't have allowed it if they weren't going to be okay back on duty, but he was not soon to forget how bad they had looked when they'd been wheeled into the room next to his and nii-san's. Nor was he soon to forget how helpless he'd felt, within earshot as they'd been puking up stomach lining and blood, and being ordered by their superior officer and his Prime Minister to go back out into the city, instead of next door to save them-

But they were fine now. Right?

Sheska was not so easy to derail when she was on a tangent. "The major's been restricted to light duty," she replied instantly. "You – you really don't see a connection . . . ?"

Fletcher stared at her for a moment. She was serious. This wasn't a tangent.

"I'm afraid I don't," he replied firmly. Great, now she had him wondering if maybe there was some kind of conspiracy to get southern Amestrians into a place of power so they could have an effect on the Parliament or something-

5289754, 5289754 . . .

Sheska looked back up at him with suspiciously tearful eyes, having not yet straightened herself. She now seemed to be slumping dejectedly, rather than hiding from prying ears. "So . . . you think it's just a coincidence too . . . ?"

That half of Mustang's officers were geographically from the same region? "Where were you born, sergeant?"

"Dublith," she answered automatically, then clapped her hand over her mouth in shock. Her eyes were almost as round as her lenses.

Fletcher just raised his eyebrows at her. "And are you part of some conspiracy of southern Amestris to control Parliament interests?" After all, Dublith was definitely southern Amestris.

She shook her head violently 'no.'

"Then it's just a coincidence." He tried to make his voice reassuring. He knew very well that she had been the one to spearhead the investigation into what had really happened to the late Maes Hughes, and that she had also overlooked 'coincidences' like that over and over again before she'd put the pieces together. With Mustang's life now in jeopardy – as much as it could be called that – he could understand why she'd be a little quicker to latch onto oddities than others.

Come to think of it . . . he and Russ grew up in Central, true, but they'd been born in-

No, he told himself firmly. 5289754.

Sheska did not look convinced. "But-"

"No," he repeated, this time aloud.

She almost looked like she wanted to sniffle. "So . . . you don't think I'll get fired again?"

Fletcher just stared at her. ". . . what?"

"After L-Brigadier General Hughes realized the truth about Juliet Douglas, he fired me," she said thickly. "To protect me. Now there are all of these investigations, and the assassination rumors and I already know I'm under suspicion because I identified some of the evidence so quickly and-"

"Wait." He held up a hand, and lowered his voice again. "You're under investigation? You're _participating_ in one! How could you think-"

"That's just to give me a false sense of security," she confided miserably. "The colonel already pulled my files. I'm afraid that once all this is said and done – and my mom is much better, so I don't need the money, but I'd miss everyone so much- and if General Hakuro finds out about what I did for the Elrics and even before that with Fuehrer Bradley-"

If he wasn't careful, she was going to turn on the waterworks. "No one's going to fire you," he interrupted her gently. "Mustang would be a fool to let you go."

Sheska gave him a watery smile. "You're nice to say so, sir."

Fletcher resisted the urge to roll his eyes – again. "My name is Fletcher, not sir," he corrected, "and if you really _are_ under investigation, you don't want to stick around back here too long. Someone might suspect something."

. . . she couldn't really be part of any conspiracy, could she? Even as he watched her straighten her skirt and swallow back any threatening tears, his mind recognized how truly easy it was to manipulate her –

_No._ There was no southern Amestrian conspiracy. No one was suspecting Sheska of being in league with Drachma or whoever the hell it was behind the attempts. And there was no reason to think maybe Al had asked him to do this not because Sheska was busy, but because she was under investigation. Because then he'd have to wonder why Al was keeping his promotion so quiet, and consider that the reason wasn't to avoid pissing off his brother, but instead had something to do with 5289754.

Augh.

"You're contagious," he muttered under his breath as Sheska bowed low and scuttled away, babbling all the while. Now he couldn't _wait_ to pull these records and get back on the phone with Al. Not that Al would tell him if his promotion had anything to do with this or not, even if he asked –

Fletcher scrubbed a hand down his face. Yes. This was another perfect example of why he wanted nothing to do with the State. Nothing.

5289754.

- x -

"Getting cold feet?"

Enormous hands clamped down on his shoulders, and before he even had time to realize the words were meant for him, he was in the air.

And just after he'd made the first observation, he was making a second.

He had landed pretty much on his head.

He felt himself skidding, and clamped a hand down on the top of his head, hanging onto the too-long bangs for dear life as the rest of him collided with something too narrow for comfort. A chair leg, he though muzzily, and then he was being hauled up again. This time by his collar.

He coughed in the man's face, and was dropped in disgust. Once more on the fetid floor, he curled into a ball, afraid of being kicked. Luckily for him, they were content to let him lie there and cling to his hair.

For a moment.

"The set-up was nice."

He tried for a smirk. The mercenary's accent was getting better, but still very obvious on the word 'nice.'

His sneer went unappreciated as he was grabbed by his collar for the second time, and this time set on his feet. He opted to take the suggestion and stand, making a show of trying to keep his balance. Maybe they wouldn't hit him anymore if they thought they'd actually knock him out.

Or maybe not.

He coughed again, then spoke. "The job I set you up for hasn't happened yet."

There was the sound of shattering wood, far too close for comfort, and he released his head, brushing the straight brown bangs out of his eyes to get a better look around. He'd been right; he'd collided with a chair. The pieces of it were now scattered around the floor. There were three that he could see, this time, and their little scuffle had emptied half the tavern. The other half wasn't moving, wasn't so much as drinking from their half-raised steins.

The unfortunate part of the matter was, they were also silent. He'd picked this place specifically because it was loud, and a conversation could easily be covered by the raucous crowd. Now there'd be no such luck.

"I take it you ran into something unexpected." He tried to keep his voice hard. He didn't want to get hit again, but he wasn't stupid enough to take a subservient tone. Not to these people.

"Two somethings." The man that he assumed had originally tossed him was the one that had put him back on his feet, and he was crouching now, as if he was coaxing a lost child. Getting down on his level. "Blondes. Alchemists, too. Friends of yours?"

Blonde alchemists. The only one that came to mind was Lucille, but there was no reason for them to have encountered her. "Where was this?"

The slightly sour-smelling men in front of him leaned forward, apparently intent upon studying him, and he made no move to avert his gaze. He was confident his eyes were still shadowed by his hair, but they couldn't have been as dark as the deep brown glaring at him, mostly concealed by thick, dark folds of skin. Very thick skin, with deep wrinkles telling tales of long hours spent squinting in the glaring sun.

"Your house."

He involuntarily stiffened, then burst out laughing. It sounded fake to his ears, but he did it so rarely he wasn't sure anyone else could tell. "Women in my home. That must have been something to see."

"They weren't women."

Ah. Two blonde _male_ alchemists.

That was another story altogether. It also made a heck of a lot more sense.

He shouldn't have cut class. "Well, they obviously didn't give you too hard of a time."

The mercenary remained where he was, forward, weight resting on the balls of his feet. "It's too late to back out. I thought I made that perfectly clear." There was a slight crunching sound as the soles of his boots ground against splinters of wood. "What did you tell them? Or did we interrupt you before you could sell us out?"

He glared at the older man, continuing to meet his eyes. "It's the first I've heard of it. Might I suggest you not make unnecessary trips to my residence. If you'd stuck to the plan, little blonde dogs wouldn't have caused you trouble. Now you've gone and jeopardized everything."

It was too difficult to tell from the description whether the visitors had been the Tringum brothers or the Elrics. It was one and the same, as far as these men were concerned. Wasn't an issue. Wasn't even unexpected. Not really. Just inconvenient.

The mercenary cocked his head to the other side, glaring steadily at him. "You're saying you didn't know they'd be there?"

At some point, their conflict had stopped being interesting. The static background noise of guffaws and glassware had returned at some point, and he dared to straighten the too-large jacket around himself haughtily. Blinking in irritation as his eyelashes scraped the bangs crowning his forehead, he raised his voice slightly.

"Of course not. Nor did I know you would be." The man's eyes didn't so much as flicker. Well, obviously the mercenary couldn't feel too guilty about it, if he'd admitted they'd made the unscheduled visit. He allowed a brief frown to cross his features, resisting the urge to rub his forehead. "Thank your gods it's too late to change the day's itinerary. And thanks for tipping them onto me. You always double-cross your informants?"

On the plus side, to have survived and escaped a confrontation with either the Tringums or the Elrics, he could believe they really were as good as they claimed. And it was nice to have the head's up. Obviously his plan to head home after this would need to be reviewed.

"Sounds to me like you owe me another thirty thousand cenz. For the inconvenience of having to find a new home," he growled, interrupting a protest before it could be formed. "I wonder what kind of reward I could get, giving you to the military-"

He'd been anticipating the attack, but it still hurt a hell of a lot more than he expected. The fourth was behind him, and had tossed him into the edge of the nearby table. He was too winded to even whimper when the leader's face swam into view, upside down.

"You've already given us the information, rat. Far as I'm concerned, there's no need to give you the other half at all. Particularly if the military's sniffed you out."

Damn. His mouth was working, but nothing besides gasps were coming out.

The one that had flanked him was now in sight, staring not at him but at his boss. He muttered something, and the two exchanged a significant look. Then the dark eyes were back on him.

"Then again, I suppose you haven't said anything on the state of those orders."

Well, at least one of them had a brain. He barely had time for relief, though, before he was plucked up off the floor once again, and this time laid no less gently across the table.

"So it seems you're still useful. Isn't this your lucky day."

He fought to hold his breath, and slowly the urge to hyperventilate was leaving him. "Double . . . or nothing."

The mercenary sneered. "Ain't you a ballsy one." When several seconds of intense staring had completed, the look became amused again.

"Done." Then he leaned in close, and his accent became far more pronounced. "If you've betrayed us or embellished your papa's chances of getting those orders changed, a thousand alchemists won't save you."

He struggled to keep his voice under control. "You keep fucking up, I won't . . . need to worry about those alchemists. They'll be . . . too busy gutting you."

The mercenary regarded him for several more seconds before there was a heavy metallic thud by his right ear. "Get a room on me, rat. Wouldn't want those alchemists to find you before those orders get issued."

At this point, he looked away, and with a rough shake he was released. He lay sprawled awkwardly across the table for several seconds, enough time to let them get some distance but not enough that any of the other ruffians would think to take advantage. He leaned up slowly and favored his back, snatching up the three coins without looking around the room.

Another thirty seconds found him slinking out the side door like any street rat, and he kept himself well bundled, eyes on the street, as he hurried out into the morning bustle. It was a bright day, which meant more of Central's denizens were paying attention to the sky and less to the slim figure that darted in and out of the crowd.

When he'd reached the appropriate alley, he looped the corner, knowing the sagging roof overhangs and sunlight would hide the flash. He'd etched the circle some time ago, and a brush with his fingers resulted in a planked metal wall forming behind him. He doubted the mercs would have followed him, given what he considered a stellar performance, but he couldn't be too careful.

Since he obviously wasn't being careful enough. He'd figured he had another day to get things in order. And Elrics – or Tringums – were not people he was willing to engage yet.

It was disappointing, but if everything went well, there was nothing in that house he'd need.

It was with great relief that he yanked the wig off his head, enjoying the sensation of air on his sweating scalp once again. It looked great, but the damn thing itched. A few more minutes' walk found him approaching a nondescript car, and he slid into the driver's seat, tossing the wig and brown overcoat into the back.

Get a room indeed. Close enough to hoof it, but not so close as he'd be seen . . . and his to-do list had just gotten longer. If alchemists had already been dispatched to his house . . . but the why was important.

The motor purred to life, crawling from the curb into traffic, and Franklin Sorn contemplated the available lodgings.

- x -

"Colonel Mazo's report is fairly brief, sir. No credible leads, no information."

He resisted the urge to roll his eye, instead continuing his quick pace down the hall. His secretary, Challiel, simply moved it to the back of the pile. "The latest reports on the incident last night have been placed on your desk."

"Anything of note?"

"The briefing from the Full Metal Alchemist was not among the papers." She was no alchemist, but she could quantify things into available versus missing information. It was just after ten am, so Hakuro had had more than enough time to track even a recalcitrant Edward down and get information out of him. Either he was withholding it, or Edward was not where he was scheduled to be.

Alphonse had already left Central, so he couldn't be certain Edward was well. Still, there was no chance that the general's men, not finding Fullmetal in front of a lectern, would not have then proceeded to his place of residence. He couldn't have gone with Alphonse, since his traveling documents would have been suspended, and there was no way in hell he'd actually checked himself into a hospital. Most likely, he was following any leads the two had uncovered last night, or back at the site himself.

Still, he needed information now, not later. "Have Master Sergeant Brosh dispatched to find Fullmetal." Sometimes, having a colonel for his head of security was very, very convenient. It meant he could still give military orders, however limited. Riza still had control of her staff, something the general hadn't been petty enough to strip, and he could count on her to give the order quietly.

Challiel nodded, jotting down the order on her pad. "The Drachman ambassadors have finished their tour of the Parliament buildings and invite you to high tea."

He had accepted their dinner invitation last night despite the brief scandal involving faulty utility repair in a block near the prison, so turning them down for lunch would probably not be outrageously rude.

"Please convey to them my gratitude, but I must attend to less pleasant matters."

Another quick but neat scribble. "Major General Olivier Armstrong has requested an audience to discuss your policy on Drachma following the visit of his Eminence Shurik Tolya."

"Grant it." As the hand and heart of Briggs, he wasn't entirely certain her visit with Alex hadn't been explicitly planned around the Drachman visit.

"Major Breda is waiting to speak with you in your inner office. I have added fifteen minutes to your schedule."

She said it very matter-of-factly, as though she had squirreled away a quarter hour yesterday just to elongate this day by fifteen minutes. If anyone could actually modify time, he believed she would have mastered the skill by now, if only to make her job of keeping his schedule a little more reasonable.

"Thank you."

She made a note of that, too – did he so rarely thank her? – before leaving his side to move towards her desk. "I'll let Parliament know you will begin the audience in twenty minutes."

They, after all, deserved to be told it wasn't faulty repair of utilities, but rather further alchemical experimentation. He really wasn't sure they could wrap their brains around chimeras, and he did want to get the highlights before he walked into that audience. There was no way he could explain this away as anything other than related to alchemy, but at the very least he needed to know if the evidence was clearly pointing at one of his alchemists.

Which meant there wasn't a lot of time to talk to Heymans, whether she'd bought him fifteen minutes or not.

He entered his office by his favorite route, the door that appeared to be a bookshelf. There were several such secret entrances – and exits – from the room, doubtlessly placed there for the Speaker, before there was a Prime Minister. He had no doubt the Fuhrer's old offices had similar entrances and exits, and for probably the same purposes. To enter and leave without every aid on the planet knowing.

He also had a hidden washroom, for those times when there simply wasn't enough time to retreat to the shower, and a washcloth would have to make due.

The major wasn't surprised by his entrance. If he didn't know the man better, he'd say Breda was asleep. He was slouched in one of the armchairs, rather than in front of the majestic desk, and his shoulders had a distinctly dejected slump to them.

He quietly pushed aside the urge to sigh, and quickly looped the room, rifling through the neat stacks of paper on his desk until he found the one he was looking for. Then he headed straight for the loveseat opposite Heymans.

The major stood when he approached, but he waved down the salute without even looking. "How are you feeling?"

He took his seat and opened the first page of the report. Breda was long used to speaking to officers while they multitasked, to the point he was beginning to think Heymans preferred it that way. He didn't want to pin down his old friend, not when he knew damn well what this conversation was going to be about.

It was going to be about why Breda had investigated his colleagues under Hakuro's order without telling them about it.

"I feel fine, Minister." The same answer he gave every time they asked. According to Dr. Patterson, that appraisal was more along the lines of "Restrict him to light duty no matter what he says."

"I'd like to report, but I wasn't sure you'd want this on paper."

Momentarily confused, Roy glanced up at him to find the same apologetic look in the man's eyes. He frowned.

"You had your reasons, Major."

He averted his eyes. "Yeah, but I didn't get much chance to discuss 'em with Hawkeye before shit hit the fan, so to speak."

Roy stared at him a moment more, then closed the folder and laid it on the coffee table between them. "Then report."

Breda reacted to the complete attention exactly like he'd thought; the man stiffened and kept his eyes averted. Damn it, he must have looked pissed off. When Johann Irving had gone after the remnant of his eye, he'd dug deep enough to affect some of the nerves in the left side of his face. Despite the fact the eyepatch covered most of that half of his face, sometimes that corner of his mouth curved down when he wasn't paying attention.

And maybe part of the dejected look was the weight loss. It had been a while since he'd had the major in front of him, in uniform, in the light of day, and now that he did, it was obvious. His complexion was still sallow, though it was obvious he'd tried to correct that with the sun. His jowls were somehow softer, as if the fat that had made them part of his face had melted away, leaving only the skin behind. Most alarming of all, his hairline had receded considerably, and his goatee was gone. He'd lost almost all his hair at one point, and five months later it was starting to look like some of it might not ever grow back.

"Hakuro approached me right after Doc let me back on duty." Breda paused, as if expecting a comment. When one didn't come, he continued in the same steady voice. "He gave me a line, so I bit. It wasn't exactly hard to convince him I was pissed off, since, well, I kinda was."

That wasn't a surprise. He'd kept the man off duty for over four months, and he recalled how frustrated he'd been himself, after reinstatement, when they'd treated him like glass because of the eye.

"I had to report to him three times a week, so I'd come in on the tail ends of meetings. There's a fair number of goldcoats that are backing him next election, and are willing to campaign for him. More than we thought." He paused again, this time to scoot closer to the edge of his seat.

"But still less than half. Majority of Parliament wants to be re-elected, and they know that voters support you. They'll continue to vote in your favor for a little while, at least. Hakuro's lobbying to get them, and in his eyes he's making strides in that direction."

Breda finally looked back up at him, and he wanted to slap that kicked dog look right off the man's face. Instead, he frowned at him.

"Are you certain the general bought it?"

Breda looked slightly surprised at the question, then suddenly relieved. "Not at first, no. I let him find a couple of less dirty secrets. Made it seem reluctant. Got a few free dinners out of the deal, which wasn't so bad."

At least Heyman's appetite was back. "And you're no longer being watched?" That was the only reason he could think of that Breda couldn't have tipped his hand to them.

Unless he was still pissed off. The major was pretty even-tempered, but he could hold a grudge.

The relieved look morphed into something pseudo-normal. "It just took me a while to figure out their schedule. Ditched them at the mess twenty minutes ago."

Mustang nodded. "What else?"

"He's looking into the bomb." He said it quietly, but with surety. "So far he's had no luck, and he's keeping me far away from it."

Of course. Hakuro couldn't be sure that Breda, even pissed off, would betray him to that extent. "How angry are you?"

Heymans gave him a steady look. "I was mad for a while. I only like to be lazy when there's work to be done. It's no fun sitting around when you're supposed to."

Breda was thinner. He was tired. But there was no doubt he was better, even if he wasn't 'fine.' And there was no doubt he was going to find something to do, whether Mustang wanted him to or not. Roy found himself fighting down a small smile.

"Well said."

He held Breda's gaze for a moment, looking the man up and down. "I am extremely disappointed in you, major. I had expected better from my loyal subordinate, and violating a direct order to remain on light duty will not go unpunished."

The major straightened and gave him a flat look. "I'd expect nothing less, sir."

"Excellent. Report to Dr. Patterson for another physical, and keep an eye out for any empty glass containers when leaving the examination room."

Breda saluted smartly, and Roy stood, signaling business was at an end. Part of him wanted to ask about Fuery, but now . . . now it was obviously time to re-evaluate them both. If Challiel could create fifteen minutes to speak with Breda, she could get him a half-hour in Fuery's barracks.

Fuery was less likely to get angry and more likely to accept his fate, and the gentle specialist deserved better than to believe he'd been cast so easily aside.

And having an inside man, even one Hakuro didn't really trust, was better intelligence than he'd get otherwise. He firmly believed Dr. Patterson would catch on quickly, and hopefully someone would report the broken glass to the general directly. It wasn't likely to buy Breda anything more than time, but judging the weather of Parliament was getting more difficult, and hadn't he already been warned winter was on the way?

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, you waited a long time for this chapter, and I'm sorry! Blasted real life again. I don't expect to be delayed much more, so at least you can expect regular updates from this point on! I've read over the thing and found a zillion typos, so I imagine there are more. As always, please let me know and I'll correct them all.

Hello to all you new readers out there, and thank you so much for the reviews! Next chapter marks the end of exposition! Expect the pace to pick up pretty significantly. Except, well, it's _me_ we're talking about here, so pace is relative . . . ; )


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"If you would please wait here, I'll fetch my husband."

Alphonse Elric inclined his head politely, and the thin woman flashed him a nervous smile before flitting to the arched doorway leading, he suspected, to the parlor. She was gone in an instant, and he listened to the pleasant gurgle of running water, eyeing the hallway appreciatively.

There was no telling what Avram Blane did for Rountal, but it appeared to pay quite well.

Soft beiges and pastels glowed from the walls and trim, casting soft light on the finely crafted table and its ceramic inhabitants. The wood floors were narrowly paneled and a beautiful golden oak, and a very intricate, circular rug completed the picture. A winding staircase told of an upper story, and the doors to his immediate right and left were doubles, both closed. He guessed the fountain must be behind the right.

Knowing it would be rude to look, Al contented himself with glancing out of the rectangular panels of glass beside the front door, eyeing the gravel drive for motion. Or the tell-tale blue of the six soldiers he'd seen arriving when he'd left Jannai. They hadn't immediately headed for Rachel's little café, but it was really only a matter of time before they did so.

Obviously Hakuro was also looking for the Mechanical Alchemist. While it was nice to know he had backup if he truly needed it, this was a race he wanted very much to win. If Franklin actually was in danger from an alchemist, those soldiers were as good as dead. And if Franklin had taken a Stone, even an incomplete one, it wasn't very likely he'd want to return to Central when he'd only just left. Once they spoke to the same people he'd spoken to, asked the same questions, and made their own phone call, they'd make this leap as well.

But they were likely to arrive a bit faster, as they'd find a more suitable mode of transportation than one of Bert's childhood friends and an old but steady nag.

On a whim, Al raised his sleeve to his nose, wondering if-

Yes. As a matter of fact, he _did_ smell like a horse-drawn cart. A quick clap and a brief glow later, the same test resulted in the faint aroma of cotton. Al leaned over, plucking up the small block of organic matter that had been neatly removed from his clothes, and was about to tuck it into his pocket when he heard a polite cough.

"Please, allow me to dispose of that for you."

A slightly round, middle-aged man stood smiling in the archway Mrs. Avram Blane had disappeared into. He was wearing the traditional brown suit of the region, though his was obviously very finely made, and Al was startled to see a silver chain peeking out from beneath the hem of his vest.

"Oh." He struggled to find something more articulate to say. "That's not necessary, though if you have a trash bin . . .?"

The man grinned up at him. "Forgive me for startling you, boy. The name's Avram." He tucked his thumbs into his suspenders and tilted his head to the side slightly. "That's an interesting technique for freshening clothes you have there."

Al laughed hesitantly. "Ah, yes, well, I came by horse, and you have such a fine house, I was concerned -"

"Nonsense! Don't let any of this fool you." He gestured widely to indicate the room, then suddenly reversed so that he was shooing him forward. "Come in, come in!"

A little reluctantly, Al palmed the dirt and followed his cheerful host into what he had correctly guessed was the parlor. It would have been a library save the billiards table in the center, though the walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A large work table, in front of the widest window, contained all manner of chemical analysis equipment, including one of the most complex microscopes Al had ever seen.

"You can toss that here, boy."

Avram was indicating a small wastebin, and Al relieved himself of his rather odiferous cargo. Once he'd brushed off his hands, he offered the clean one to his host. "Please forgive the intrusion, sir. My name is Alphonse Elric. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you have time."

His left hand was taken and thoroughly wrung, in much the same manner as a water pump. "I am honored, honored to have you as a guest! Please, do stay for dinner! It isn't often I have such distinguished company, particularly another alchemist!" He pulled Al slightly closer and bent his head, lowering his voice significantly. "Lily hates it when I talk alchemy at the dinner table."

Al found himself smiling. "I can . . . relate." Winry didn't hate it, exactly, but she was no fonder of alchemy now than she'd been as a little girl, and once he and Ed got going, if not for Aunt Pinako to talk gears with, he was pretty sure Winry would quickly lose it.

"So you'll stay?" The man visibly brightened, and Al stifled a sigh. He really had wanted to get back to Jannai by nightfall, and the man had all but just said there were no other alchemists in the house, but he could probably use the insight a man such as this might have into Franklin.

" . . . if you're certain it's not an imposition, sir."

"Aww, cut the sir crap. I told you, it's Avram."

Al inclined his head, and his forgotten hand was released. He was ushered to the billiards table, so he took a seat, and his host sat across from him, idly picking up a deck of cards. "So, what brings a celebrity like Alphonse Elric to our little town?"

He wondered if the man actually recognized his name, or was merely being polite. "Actually, I came to ask after one of your former apprentices . . . do you remember Franklin Sorn?"

Bushy eyebrows shot up, and the cards briefly stilled in the man's nimble hands. "Do I remember the boy? I practically raised him!" He jerked his chin towards his work table. "He fashioned that microscope I saw you eyeing earlier. Did a bang-up job, too. Better alchemist than I ever was."

Al smiled politely, and suddenly the slightly portly man frowned at him. "What's he gotten himself into now?"

Alphonse felt his smile become more genuine. It was different, but somehow akin to the tone Izumi had used when referring to them sometimes.

"I'm not quite certain at this point. I was hoping you might know where he is."

The eyes beneath those eyebrows were sharp, though the man went right back to shuffling cards. "So he's gone missing?"

Mincing words seemed unnecessary. "Yes," Al answered honestly. "I'm afraid he might be in trouble."

"Must be big trouble, if an alchemist of your caliber was sent after him," Avram mused, staring at the fluidly moving cards thoughtfully. He was exceptionally good at shuffling; Al found his eyes were drawn to the cascade of cardboard as well.

"I wasn't sent, exactly." That might come back and bite him, when soldiers started knocking on the door. "I'm one of his professors –"

"I know. Your brother is the headmaster of the Amestris Academy of the Sciences." Blane made it sound very grand. "He takes several classes from you. Respects you, too. That's a rare thing, from him." The man looked up, catching his eyes. "If you're here on your own, well, that worries me more. What happened?"

"He's missed too many classes." And it could be left at that. "I stopped by his home, to check on him, and he wasn't there. As far as we can tell, he's not in Central at all." He hadn't been in any of the hospitals, at least under his own name. "I originally went to Jannai, which his application lists is his hometown-"

"And they sent you to me," Blane finished quietly. "I'm a little surprised that town will still have anything to do with me."

Al felt himself smile slightly, tearing his gaze from the cards to the soft, worn green velvet of the billiards table. Obviously the man spent a lot of time here. "Actually, I had the pleasure of speaking with several people there who seemed very fond of you."

Avram pursed his lips. "You're nice to say so, boy, but I couldn't do anything for that town. Too little, too late . . ." He blew out his cheeks. "But it's water under the bridge. No one can turn back the clock, eh?"

There was a wistfulness in his tone that rang too close to home. "You don't give yourself enough credit, sir." Not if the young man who had taken him through the woods was to be believed.

"For a professor, you don't listen too well. It's not sir. You do that again, and I'll have Lily serve your soup cold."

Avram was grinning as he said it, as though it was a terrible threat, that someone as high-class as the Binding Life Alchemist be served something cold, and Al rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a habit, I'm afraid, from growing up around the military."

"Good habit to kick then," Blane grunted. "No offense, of course."

"None taken. I wouldn't have chosen it for us, but-" Why was he telling the man this? Again, he had the strangest feeling that he should be addressing this man respectfully. It wasn't as strong as it had been with sensei, but it left the same impression. "-water under the bridge, as you say. So, you haven't seen Franklin recently?"

Avram paused in his shuffling, deftly combining and splitting the deck in halves. "Not seen him in a long time. Haven't heard from him either since his last letter, which was, oh, a month ago maybe? He's pretty good about sending one every two weeks, but . . ." He trailed off. "You'll forgive me for maybe knowing a bit too much about military matters, but Red mentioned the alchemic feedback still present in Central. I assumed he was just tired, or it slipped his mind."

Al nodded, more to reassure the man that the feedback was _not_ a secret. It had been said very plainly in the papers and citizens were now very familiar with the yellow and red warning ropes. Which were disappearing at a steady, if maddeningly slow, pace. "He's been looking pretty worn. When he missed class, I assumed he'd taken ill."

Blane nodded. "If he were ill, he'd probably have just gone to a doctor. Not much for heroics, that boy. As down to earth as they come. The inefficiency of being sick would frustrate him too much."

Yes, this man knew Franklin quite well. "Do you know of any projects he was working on, that might have taken him out of the city suddenly?"

Avram shook his head, going back to shuffling his deck. "None, besides his usual research. He didn't mention any breakthroughs to me, but he wouldn't unless he'd already tested his theory a dozen times and declared it sound." The man snorted. "Research he's doing, I wouldn't be surprised if it's over my head by now."

This time Al couldn't contain his protest. "As I've heard it, you're quite talented with healing alchemy."

He got a quirked eyebrow and a slow smile. "You must have talked with my children."

Al blinked, slightly nonplussed. "Ah . . . perhaps." But if one of them had been his son or daughter, wouldn't they have known where he lived . . . ?

Avram laughed. "Oh, not my flesh and blood, though we're trying for one of our own. No, it's what they called all the orphans. Blane's Children. Whole passel of 'em managed to survive." He sobered a little. "I expect they mentioned that, too, didn't they?"

Al nodded quietly.

Rachel had alluded to it, in a way, but he hadn't caught on. Not until a dark-eyed young man, maybe eighteen, had swaggered into Rachel's little café and been declared Arei by Zach. After quite a bit of good-natured teasing all around, the young man had accepted the charge of leading the 'polite State Alchemist' to the spot where the supposed slaughter of forty drifters by Ishbalans had taken place. It had been over two miles from Jannai proper, and they'd had plenty of time to talk.

"One of you folk came out, two years back. There waren't nothing to find, though." Arei had obviously walked the trails since he was a boy; he barely had to look, and wove expertly through the complex roots of the ancient trees. Behind him, Al was beginning to think perhaps he needed to transmute a little less and spar a little more. He wasn't out of breath, necessarily, but he was definitely not in the shape he'd been in Europe.

Possibly another symptom of spending too much time around the feedback, actually. He'd noticed a few more strands of hair than usual would be left in the drain when he was finished showering, but outside of that he hadn't been losing weight, losing appetite, or any of the other symptoms of feedback poisoning.

And even if he was slightly less sure-footed than he'd like, he certainly wasn't going to be shown up by this kid, particularly after some of the taunts Arei had thrown at the old men. "Then how did anyone confirm it was a group of Ishbalans?"

"She said." Arei said it in an offhand manner, as though it was common knowledge. "Best she could with no tongue, that is. Avram never could get it to grow back, but he did his best."

That was the second time they'd referred to Franklin's teacher as a healer. "Was Avram the town doctor?"

"Naw." The boy seemed to be enjoying having all the information, and was doling it out slowly. "He's an alchemist. Surprised you've not heard of him, seeing as he cured the plague."

Cured the plague. That was news. "Which plague was this?" He didn't recall reading anything in the last six years about a plague in Central, or anywhere in Amestris for that matter, at least not a lethal one-

"We called it the rot." They hopped a very narrow creek. "More'n half of the adults got it, and most of the babies from their mommas. Doctors came from the city, but they couldn't do nothing neither. Avram found a cure, but not before my poppa got sick."

Al digested this as they skirted what must have been five hundred feet of downed tree. "How did Avram cure it?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. Alchemy. He kept it from spreadin' out of the village, worked on it every day. Tried treating everyone, even people who hadn't got it yet, but them treatments only worked some of the time. After a while everyone who'd been sick was dead, and their houses and stuff burned, and so there wasn't no one to catch it from anymore. Momma said that if he hadn't found that early treatment, the whole village'd have been wiped out like Busse."

Busse. That sounded familiar, somehow . . . from before, but not . . . not from both sets of memories. Just one.

When he was armor. He and Ed had been there when he was armor, and for some reason he thought Winry, too, which meant it must have been when they were heading for Ishbal . . .

His eyes widened as his mind brought forth the image of a young girl, a stone girl, curled over a stone corpse-

The whole village had been turned to stone.

"So . . . that's what happened to Rachel's parents."

Arei nodded. "Yep. Pretty much everyone my age was raised by just one or no one at all."

And the application said Franklin's parents were dead-

"And . . . what happened to Franklin's family?"

Arei glanced at him over his shoulder. "They died too. He didn't have any sisters or brothers or friends or nothin', so Avram took him in. Took in a lot of us, but little Frankie was already an alchemist by then, makin' soapbox cars and such."

"When did this happen?"

"Ten, no, eleven years back now. I was six."

Al refocused on Blane when the man started shuffling again. "If you'd ended up talking to some of the older folks, I expect you'd have heard a different story."

Al studied him a moment, then cast a look over at the microscope again. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you stop that plague? Was it a virus?"

Blane nodded, his fingers never fumbling. "Took me a long time to isolate one of the proteins. Too long. It was in the food supply, somehow, but we never figured out what had brought it in. In the end, the best I could do was concoct a solution that caused a special secretion in the stomach. That protein in the virus would bond to it, then it would be carried through the digestive system and excreted as normal, and the person would never become infected."

He scoffed at himself. "But of course, not all the virus would necessarily come in contact with the stomach lining, or it would infect the cells there before it was bonded, so it wasn't foolproof. All I could do was keep giving it to people in the hopes . . . well, the hopes they'd get lucky."

"Sometimes that's the best you can do," Al said quietly. "No one can save everyone."

Blane gave him a shrewd look. "Expect that's a lesson you've learned the hard way, to hear you say it like that."

"I don't think that lesson is ever easy, for anyone."

The shrewd look hadn't left. "What do you really think Frank's up to?"

"I don't know." But whatever it is, I hope the kid's okay. Even if he is looking for a Stone. This man was far too good with observation; there was no need to mention Franklin's interest in a Philosopher's Stone. If he'd been writing to Blane about the feedback, about his classes, and even about his professors, then it was pretty likely he'd have written about the Stone.

Maybe that was what Avram was really asking him. An Elric who supposedly used the Philosopher's Stone more than once, and in fact actually had. The only Elric to use it, actually. It would be tacky to ask outright, after all. And Avram was pretty informal, but apparently not _that_ informal.

Alphonse was spared any more worry on the subject when a door behind Avram opened to reveal the slim outline of his wife against the bright orange of the setting sun behind her.

"Can I offer you two any refreshments before dinner? You will be staying, won't you?"

Something in her voice sounded so hopeful, and Blane caught his eye and grinned.

"Yes, Lily dear, that would be lovely."

Avram stood, so Al did as well, and the two headed towards what Al could now see was the kitchen. The table was quite a bit larger than he would have expected, meaning this was also the dining room, and he liked the less formal look quite a bit. It was nice to be able to sit at the table and keep the person cooking company.

Lily gestured at the table, where a large pitcher of lemonade had been placed, and Avram set about pouring it while Al admired the large bay doors opposite the parlor, displaying a large and well-kept lawn that was ablaze in warm colors.

Recalling Avram's earlier comment about her dislike of alchemy as a dinner conversation, Al caught a glint on her wrist as Lily set salad plates at the three place settings.

"Oh, what a beautiful bracelet." He'd only gotten a glimpse, but if it was a watch, at least there would be a story behind something so intricate-

She ducked her head, motioning for him to take a seat. "Why, thank you for noticing! It was actually a wedding gift . . ."

- x -

The surveyor's collection was placed to the side, in its own pile, and then Edward Elric took a moment to pop his back.

He was making it terribly obvious someone had gone through the office, but then again, he doubted if Franklin was still in the city that he was unaware he was being sought. There was no real need to keep it a secret at this point if there was already a military search under way. And this way, at least he could get a handle on what the kid was studying.

Though, glancing over the piles, that was turning out to be more challenging than he'd thought when he started over four hours ago.

It had to be approaching midnight. Sorn's house had been cold and dark when he'd returned to it, and all his little traps had still been set, outside of the one on the front door. And he assumed that was because soldiers had come to the house searching for Franklin as well, and almost beat down his door.

They couldn't transmute a hole through the wall, after all, and apparently weren't willing to pick the lock, as the visitors the previous night had done. Franklin had probably made the locks himself, and the doors were stout. The front door more so, since he and Al had transmuted it back together.

But they weren't searching here anymore. No one had knocked on the door, nor come to visit him since he'd turned on the lights and started working.

The piles and piles on the great desk had been sorted by general subject, and now surrounded him like a sprawling suburban subdivision. Geography, astronomy, physics, chemistry – all of it apparently tying to a math so complex he'd barely identified half the variables. The other half were a complete mystery.

And, of course, his and Al's notes.

The Red Water of Xenotime was mostly translated, but they'd known that. And apparently it hadn't held the information Franklin had wanted, because he'd abandoned it unfinished. Their notes on Lab Five were mostly translated, as well, which was a hell of a lot more surprising. The algorithm he'd used for those was quite intricate.

But by far the most concerning were the notes he found paperclipped to a nonfiction account of Alphonse Elric's conversation with a priest in Dublith he encountered while running errands for Izumi.

Because it wasn't a nonfiction conversation with a priest in Dublith. It was a nonfiction conversation with himself. And he wasn't running errands for sensei. He'd been plotting out the underground city in Central.

These were notes Al had written probably only a few days before he transmuted Wrath and Greed into the Gate that had allowed his brother to return to this world. That had admitted the Thule forces into Central.

These were notes Ed had never read before. And the only reason he'd deciphered them was because he knew his brother well enough. Al hadn't written in travelogues after he'd returned to his body without his older brother. He'd encrypted his notes, and he'd obviously read some of Ed's own and managed to understand them, but rather than continue with the travelogue charade he'd moved on to character pieces with people he'd met.

It sort of made sense. Interactions were always more important to Al.

And quite alarmingly, Franklin had made some of the same leaps.

He'd gotten several things wrong. For one, he interpreted one of the sentences of the 'priest' as a formula representing some of the symbols on the outer ring of a transmutation circle, where Ed was thinking it was in reference to his own notes from Lab Five. The priest mentioned a couple of geographical locations that Franklin associated with Amestris as a whole, but Ed was fairly sure they were actually key structures in the hidden city.

Of course, that was only because he knew the place as well as he did, and they outlined the general area the Gate Al had transmuted had been. He knew from Al's own account of what had happened that the location of that Gate had been up to Wrath, not Al. Alphonse was pretty good hand to hand, and might have led their fight to the correct general location, but he was vaguely surprised it was really that close.

Some of the geographical research Franklin had done coincided with his theory that Franklin thought Al was talking about Amestris as a whole, but some of that didn't line up, either. He hadn't yet figured out the astronomy angle, but there was a fair amount of research done into star charts dating back up to thirty years, as well as tracking of planetary movement within the solar system.

He was also lacking any evidence that Franklin had been even slightly interested in chimera creation or research. He didn't have a single paper from Tucker, nor had he bothered with either his or Al's notes on the subject.

There were other papers that he seemed to be along the lines of his previous research – steam engines, obviously, as well as machines that utilized electricity for mathematical calculations and more recently, forays into the wonderful world of aviation.

Copycat.

Staring at the various piles, knowing what information they represented, so far he'd come up with nothing concrete. If there was a single linking theme through these subjects, he hadn't found it yet. It was hard to separate which math was from his previous research and which was new, as Sorn didn't date all his research. He'd also encrypted some of it, and Ed wasn't quite convinced he'd properly understood it. There was also undoubtedly some pieces of paper thrown in just to confuse anyone who might study his notes, as he was doing now.

If Ed put everything together, the best he could come up with was the very sloppy theory that Franklin Sorn was trying to figure out how to transmute a Gate to Earth.

Not that he had a motive for the kid wanting to do so. Bring one of Earth's armies back to Central, to fight in the impending war? In which case, he would have expected to see the chimera research.

But it wasn't even mentioned. He'd briefly considered the children's novel as a new algorithm for chimera research, but he couldn't make it work despite the underground theme and the objects the children found in the house.

Ed scrubbed his face with his non-armored hand and glanced at the wall clock.

Past midnight.

He'd rather hoped Franklin would risk it and come home anyway, as he doubted the boy would have split town without his little vial. He was pretty sure Al's assessment was accurate – it really was a miniscule piece of Craege Irving, and it was undoubtedly one of a very, very small number of those pieces remaining. The Academy's physical and chemical department had done an excellent job breaking down those remains, and while that one spot on Tracer Avenue was still under repair by alchemists, they had not located anything on the site with near the power of that tiny vial of dirt and human remains.

And as he studied these notes, he was more and more convinced that no one had placed it below Franklin's library to poison him.

He didn't really have any evidence, besides the style in which the notes had been collected and written. Franklin was exactly what he and Al had thought when they'd first met him. A genius. He really was their equal at his age. He was even less social than Ed himself had been, and there was no evidence he'd ever had an encounter like Nina, like Rose. Outside of some letters from someone named 'Avram,' whom Ed could only assume was Franklin's alchemy teacher, there were no personal papers in the place at all.

Franklin would have noticed the feedback immediately. He was far too attuned to detail, and he had few distractions. No mechanics or automail to drag him away from his research. No friends at all, near as he could tell. He had spent hours in this library over the last week, given the dates on some of the less important papers, and if Al, who had been deeply absorbed by the subject matter, had noticed, there was no way Franklin wouldn't have.

Of course, he hadn't figured out how that vial tied into his theory that Franklin was trying to build a Gate to another world. Maybe the kid had just stumbled upon it and kept it for a rainy day, but why would he have been so careless with it? Had he been hiding it in a rush the last time he'd stashed it, and simply not buried it deeply enough?

And if he was hiding it, whom had he been hiding it from? What other alchemist would have been here to sense the feedback? It had been too low-grade for a non-alchemist to notice, unless they'd spent half the day or more in there . . .

Edward pursed his lips. The idea that Franklin might have been working _with_ another alchemist, on purpose, had never occurred to him.

Did that tie into what he'd found? If there was research into another subject that wasn't included here . . . such as chimera research . . . then it really could be a bid to protect the city by raising an army of whatever was possible.

But then again, Franklin had been interested in the Philosopher's Stone before they ever returned to Amestris, before the situation with Drachma had become so dire. And anyone searching for the Philosopher's Stone wouldn't be distracted so easily. Not someone like Franklin.

Not someone like him and Al.

Edward leaned forward, plucking up one of the non-standard sheets to glance over it again. There were many sheets torn out of a pocket-sized notebook, which he had figured would be the notes Franklin took as they occurred to him, wherever he happened to be. They were also no doubt encrypted, but as they were just very detailed ideas concerning a plan Ed wasn't sure he'd really figured out yet, they weren't turning out to be much use. He was unable to figure out which math had to do with the complex equations, and which math had to do with the geographical or astronomical studies.

This particular sheet had been torn in half, which meant the other half had either contained something not worth keeping, worth keeping on his person, or had been given to someone else. The front contained a very small transmutation circle that appeared to have something to do with atmospheric water and iron – obviously part of the steam engine theory. Which he was beginning to think was a code in and of itself.

The other side, though, was what was concerning him. It was a quickly scrawled birth announcement.

"Toman Praw was born at 8 am, Friday, October 5th, 1897. He weighed nine pounds two ounces, twenty-one inches long."

For one, it contained a lot of numbers. That made it suspect. For another, it mentioned someone he'd never heard of, and it wasn't likely that the isolated Franklin was really that interested in the weight and length of a baby born before he was.

However, it could be that the name was the initials of someone whose research he was studying. T P. P T.

Nothing came to mind.

So the date, then. 10 5 97. It didn't seem an especially auspicious date, and he couldn't recall that anything had happened on that day. It was before he was born himself, granted, but in his history studies he hadn't come across that date, nor that series of numbers in any of the research he'd just looked over . . was it the day something important had been published . . . ?

Of course, he might need to re-order the numbers. 7 9 5 1 0. All prime, of course, except the nine, so that wasn't it . . .

What if it wasn't accurate?

Ed frowned, then grabbed Franklin's desk calendar. It didn't go back to 1897, of course, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out where the weeks would have fallen..

Bingo.

October 5th in 1897 was a Tuesday. Not a Friday.

He flipped back to the current year, noting with no small trace of amusement that it was Thursday, October 4th. Of course, the year wasn't even close, being 1921 -

Ed blinked.

Of course.

This was an appointment. Toman Praw wasn't the name of a person. It was a place.

And it was tomorrow at 8 am.

P T. The intersection of two streets?

What about the measurements? 9 2 2 1 . . .

So now his numbers were 1 0 5 9 7 9 2 2 1. The repetition of the nines, twos, and ones . . . 921? 219? 129?

Edward got up, rubbing the small of his back as he headed past the large windows, over to a map pinned on the wall. It was a fairly detailed map of the city, with many of the worst areas of feedbacking marked off with multicolored pins. Both he and Al assumed Franklin was keeping it as part of his penitence for getting knocked out of the fight with Craege Irving so quickly, and it might have be right.

But it also gave him every street name, and block numbers as well.

An intersection of a P and a T . . . there were a dozen T streets. Twinnings, Toad, Tracer, Thomas . . . but the Ps were quite a bit rarer. In fact, just staring at the map, the only one he could really find was Plantir. Following it, it intersected two T streets, one in the center of downtown, the other in an almost residential area. Tracer and Threadway.

Threadway had blocks that went up to five hundred, and it intersected Plantir at the 300s. Tracer, on the other hand, intersected Plantir in the 900s.

So if he was right, Franklin Sorn had an appointment at 921 Tracer Avenue tomorrow morning at 8 am.

Edward grinned at the wall map, and caught the faintest trace of motion in his peripheral vision.

He didn't even attempt to figure out what it was. He simply stepped forward, moving his back to a solid wall. There was some chance the gunmen from earlier had returned, in which case standing in front of the window had been remarkably stupid, but he figured he'd have heard gunshots long before the men actually made it to him.

There were obviously soldiers watching the house, after all. It wasn't as if Hakuro would have it searched and then not put eyes on it. And it wasn't as if he'd made his entrance particularly sneaky. He had as much right to be looking into a missing student as the military had looking into a missing National Alchemist.

The fact they'd left him alone this long meant they were hoping he'd find a lead, and wanted to follow him. So if they were moving around the house now, that could only mean they'd gotten tired of being patient, or –

There was an authoritative knock on the front door, which he ignored. It wasn't his house, after all. If they wanted in, they could get in the usual way.

They could break a window.

The pounding on the front door continued, quite steadily, and Edward rolled his eyes and chanced a glance out the window he'd seen motion. Indeed, there was a dark figure, and the moment it saw it had his attention it motioned – forcefully – at the front of the house.

The instructions were clear. Let us in.

It was also holding its rifle, instead of allowing it to hang. That was also clear.

Open the door or we'll make one.

The fact that he'd managed to dodge his debriefing made his situation slightly more sticky than it might otherwise have been. He'd been stripped of his rank, so as far as that soldier outside was concerned, he was a civilian. Failing to obey an Amestrian soldier was punishable by arrest and jail. While he doubted any of the armed forces actually would without explicit orders to do so, he hadn't scored any points by not reporting in.

There just hadn't been time. After arranging to get the old doctor to Resembool, he'd had to go back to classes. Dueys had been quick to pull him into a consulting room with Denny Brosh, and he'd relayed all the important information to the master sergeant and gotten a couple details in return. Hakuro's men actually let him teach his classes, so slipping away from them had been easy. After that, he'd headed back here, and remained there ever since.

It was probably long past time he report what he'd seen, if Mustang hadn't, and since he had his lead, he could waste all the time he wanted. There was nothing to lose.

Assuming Hakuro didn't have him placed under arrest.

He slouched out of the library, flipping on the light in the hallway as he proceeded toward the repaired lobby. The pounding didn't cease even as he unlocked the door, and when he pulled it open, it was to see the red face of a corporal.

"Edward Elric?" the man growled.

"Yes, sir," he responded cheerfully. Then he yawned.

The corporal was not impressed. "Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric, you are charged with trespassing and interfering with a military investigate-"

"Uh-huh," he interrupted rudely. "Is the general actually here, or should I get my coat?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, corporal."

The shape that was stumping up the walkway was very familiar, and Edward didn't back up to allow the general entrance. When Hakuro had fully approached and replaced the corporal, Ed simply stared at him.

Hakuro was obviously tired, and had probably just finished up the day's work. He was still in his uniform, hat and all, and he smelled vaguely of cigar smoke. His eyes were still sharp behind the bags, though, and he looked less than amused. Edward found he was vaguely surprised Hakuro hadn't just ordered him to be brought before him in his office. The general usually preferred to try to intimidate people.

Of course, if he did so, Mustang would hear about it, which meant he'd have to turn over the results of his debriefing almost immediately, instead of withholding them to get whatever advantage he could.

Which meant Mustang hadn't clued the general into the information he'd given Brosh. Hakuro had no idea he'd already lost his race.

"We can do this one of two ways," Hakuro started without preamble. "I can detain you until the Prime Minister takes pity on you, or you can simply give me the information you've collected so far."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Why so generous?" Hakuro would hide his 'detainment' for as long as possible from Mustang and his staff, which meant he had a good chance of missing his only lead.

"I'm a generous man, Full Metal."

Ed snorted. "You were hoping Sorn would return this evening and I'd capture him for you."

The general removed his hat, clamping it beneath his right arm as he methodically pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. "You were always bright, even as a child. And I think I've been more than generous with the amount of time I've given you." He tucked the gloves into his pocket, then took a step forward, so there was barely two inches of space between them. "Give me the information or I'll ensure you don't see the sun for a week."

- x -

The dragon regarded them calmly, its bulging, spherical eyes quite passive despite its fearsome expression. Roy Mustang was reasonably sure it occasionally moved when no one was looking, making it the ultimate spy, but luckily, of all his neighbors, Xing was the least of his worries. They were far too embroiled in royal family disputes to bother with an aggressive little nation like Amestris.

So he was perfectly at ease with allowing the little jade dragon to remain on display in the main hallway, safeguarding the tapestries and ceramics of the less tolerant nations.

Oddly, the sculpture had brought a small smile to the Major General's otherwise cool lips, and she admired it for some time before she spoke.

"Have you ever been to Briggs, Minister?"

Mustang shook his head once. "I was stationed up north for a time, but never in Briggs herself."

Olivier Milla Armstrong remained as she was, almost rigidly so, her visible eye glued to the jade as if it hypnotized her. "During your demotion." It was a statement, and she did nothing to hide her opinion of it.

Now it was his turn to smile. "Are you working towards a point, general?"

"Tolya is quite personable, is he not?"

Mustang remained silent, glancing at a passing enlisted, and he nodded to acknowledge the salute. Armstrong didn't appear to notice he was there at all.

"Even on the battlefield, he is quite polite. More so with us than his own, I believe." She tilted her head slightly, shifting her hair so her other eye became visible. "You've never fought him, yet you trust him."

Roy was fairly sure he knew where she was going, as they'd sidestepped the topic of Shurik Tolya all evening. She'd been pressing him for policy changes and budgetary concerns, but the leader of Drachma himself, and the meeting they'd had, hadn't been yet brought up.

"I wouldn't use that word."

"If he meant you dead, he would have succeeded by now," she told him abruptly, eyes still on the dragon. As if waiting for it to move, to breathe, to give itself away. "You surround yourself with capable officers, but basic training does not prepare one for a skirmish with Drachmans."

One such capable officer was standing a polite distance behind them, within earshot, though Armstrong didn't seem overly concerned about being overheard.

Roy chose his next words carefully. Olivier was telling him she would support his decision not to attack Drachma. As she would be the one leading the first wave, she was certainly in a position to buy him time, but her sway with Parliament would be little. To them, she was a distant military figurehead in a very inhospitable place, a daughter of duty and too many traditions. He wasn't actually sure what Hakuro thought of her, though he'd never so much as suggested transferring her, so he obviously thought she was doing a competent job of keeping the north safe.

"How long could Briggs hold?"

Olivier's gaze never flickered. "Long enough. Assuming you allowed me to train the reinforcements."

Assuming they could get reinforcements there in time to be trained and ready. As General Hakuro had pointed out, in the dead of winter that was not a guarantee. "Is that a formal request?"

He was almost shocked into movement as she placed a graceful hand on his arm. Once there, he couldn't have removed it if he'd tried; her grip was iron. She never turned her head, never made eye contact.

"Would you be more comfortable if it was?"

Roy merely blinked at her, and the swish of fabric to his left was quite noticeable in the sudden silence. He had to turn his head almost completely before he caught sight of the sheer skirt dancing around the corner, and Olivier released his arm.

One of the Drachman diplomats.

Mustang laughed. He couldn't help it. He knew Olivier had done it so they would report back to Tolya that Armstrong was close to him, and, if only the last two sentences had been overheard, possibly trying to bed him. Still, it was a win-win situation. Having just witnessed the formidable general on his arm, the Drachmans were likely to sulk for days. Either way, Tolya was certain to see right through it, so there was no threat of his Eminence interpreting it as a rejection of his offer.

Olivier finally removed her gaze from the jade dragon, withdrawing to a more polite distance to regard him coolly.

"I'd be more comfortable if I wasn't certain you'd use me as soon as support me," he replied dryly, and was unsurprised to see the corners of the general's mouth curl upwards.

"I'll take any advantage I'm offered," she responded, and followed his gaze as he glanced again at Hawkeye. The same enlisted that had previously passed by had returned, and was actively trying to catch her eye. It was probable he had some information he was supposed to relay but he didn't want to interrupt-

Well, interrupt their conversation, at any rate. Regardless of what he thought was going on.

"How stable is Tolya's rule?" He would have expected her to report anything she thought was usable, but he knew Sheska had gone over everything ever sent to HQ regarding Drachma, and if there was a political or military force challenging Tolya, even in rumor only, she would have remembered it.

Olivier shrugged eloquently. "As stable as any leader's. I have heard nothing of any underground moveme-"

A muffled shout accompanied a sudden blur of motion, on his right, and he and Olivier whirled to see Hawkeye struggling with the enlisted. He caught the glint of something metallic before Olivier threw out her arm, almost knocking him down with the force of the strike as a gunshot rang out.

He stumbled but quickly recovered, already drawing on a glove as Armstrong leapt forward, obviously intent on a second target. There was another gunshot, and he froze, sweeping the hall in both directions.

Two uniforms were approaching from the other side, but a second glance found their firearms weren't regulation.

And they were aimed at him.

Damn.

"Down!" he shouted as he hurled himself to the side, behind the pedestal holding the Xingian dragon. Automatic fire followed his movement, trimming down his cover, and he snapped in an almost offhand manner, making certain the explosion was behind them far enough to send them stumbling, no more.

They'd gotten uniforms, somehow. That was going to make distinguishing friend from foe quite a bit trickier. Roy dared to peek around the corner, flinching back as his good eye was nearly removed by a very precise bullet.

Perhaps he was being too gentle.

"We won't stop!" the man shouted to him, his accent heavy and Drachman. He'd pulled open one of the many doors, using it for shelter, and his companion was probably in the hallway to the right. "We will keep coming and coming! You will beg for mercy as you die!"

With his back to his enemies, he got a good look at the other two attackers. Armstrong's opponent was already down, and she was making no move to staunch the flow of blood from his abdomen. Instead, she was heading both for his discarded weapon and some cover as Mustang's opponents took aim at her.

So he'd been caught in his own comrade's line of fire. That was sloppy. And telling.

Hawkeye was holding her own. Her attacker had gotten her into an unfavorable position; she must have inclined her head to listen to him whisper, and he had her by the hair. Hair was an excellent handle; if you had control of your opponent's head, you really had control of their weight. Despite it, she had pinned him to the wall behind her, beside a marble bust of some Cretain hero and protected from the remaining gunmen down the hall. She did not appear to be having trouble keeping the blade at her throat from actually cutting her, but she wasn't in a great position to turn the tables, so he reached out and lit the 'enlisted' man's right ear on fire.

Hawkeye could be trusted to keep hers alive. They only really needed one.

Once the man flinched away, howling, he refocused his attention on his own opponents. They had opened fire on Armstrong, meaning both were exposed to the hall, and he mentally calculated their likely positions before snapping again. Behind him there was more gunfire, still automatic, then the explosion, and a sudden silence punctuated with a shout of pain. Chunks of jade slid down onto his shoulderpads, and Mustang swore, this time peering around the opposite side of the pillar.

They were down. He'd aimed the explosion high, directly above their heads, with the intent to force them to the ground. Unfortunately, one of the heavy, gaudy, circular plaster decorations on the hall ceiling had come down on top of them with great speed and heat.

There was a slight chance he'd actually accidentally killed them.

Roy straightened cautiously, keeping his eye on them even as Hawkeye forced her now-disarmed opponent to his knees. Her gun lay several yards away, too far for her to retrieve without releasing her prisoner, but Armstrong was already approaching, and the two of them could easily handle him-

No. She was taking the opportunity to approach his opponents.

"I have them, Major General-"

"With all due respect, Minister, stay back," she commanded in almost a bark, actually cutting into his line of sight as she advanced.

"You!" It was a hiss, and quite surprisingly, feminine.

Then everything happened all at once.

One of the men was still quite conscious, and raised his weapon, sighting not Armstrong, but the woman in the sheer dress that had just come back around the corner of a side hallway – the Drachman ambassador.

Armstrong fired a round into his skull.

His colleague was only semiconscious at best, and had pulled a grenade. When Armstrong dropped the man about to fire on the ambassador, his body slumped onto the grenade arm of his comrade.

Mustang reached out with the array on his glove, starting to draw all the oxygen from the assassin's immediate area. He wouldn't be able to get to the air inside the grenade itself, but if he could keep the explosion small enough –

Armstrong leapt at the ambassador, tackling her to the ground and covering her with her own body –

The dazed assassin was struggling feebly to extricate his arm from his fallen comrade, and cried out in fear –

The grenade exploded with a muffled pop, making the lifeless body atop it jerk as if in pain.

There was a gunshot directly behind Mustang.

Roy whirled, glove ready, and was stunned to see Hawkeye folding to the ground. She was carried there by the dead weight in her arms – her prisoner. By the time she'd untangled her arms from his she'd been dragged to the floor, and she hastily turned him onto his back, pressing her fingers hard into his throat. She left them there for several seconds, then turned in shock to look –

To look at Goodman and Brooks.

They weren't the only ones; the fight had attracted the guards from both ends of the hallway. The skirmish just hadn't lasted long enough for any of them to intervene. Mustang had purposely left his bodyguards in his main offices when he and Olivier had decided to go for a walk, considering Brooks was one of the few staff Hakuro was investigating that had any chance of all at actually being a double agent. He hadn't wanted the man to hear what the Major General had to say.

And it was Brooks, not Goodman, that still had his weapon aimed – at the dead assassin lying in front of Hawkeye.

She was already rising to her feet, her face a mask of rage. "Why did you fire-"

Mustang turned back to the other end of the hall, where Olivier was already helping Ambassador Agata to her feet. The woman was arching and hissing like a cat but Armstrong was largely ignoring her, her eyes drawn to the location of the grenade explosion.

The fourth assassin had rolled onto his back, the stump of his arm sticking off at a weird angle, and his mouth was wide open. He wasn't moving.

They were all dead. All four of them.

Roy clenched his jaw hard to prevent himself from screaming in frustration, turning back to see Brooks lowering his weapon, gesturing at the body. "You were in danger, Colonel-"

"I had him under control!"

"He was drawing a weapon-"

Hawkeye yanked the body onto its left side, glaring down to see that Brooks was correct; the shining metal plating of a small pistol was visible poking out of the side of his too-large uniform pants.

He'd had a backup firearm, and had probably been using the distraction at the other end of the hallway to make a move for it.

Of course, the way Hawkeye had had him pinned, he wouldn't have been able to break her grip and use it. It had obviously been a last, desperate attempt, one doomed to fail.

And he would have expected Brooks to know the difference.

"Those were no countrymen of mine!" The voice was Ambassador Agata's, and it was livid. "Their accents were false! This one has orchestrated this!" He watched the brunette actually spit at Armstrong's feet.

The Major General appeared unmoved, surrendering her weapon at the MP's request. She was pressing her left hand into her side, though her uniform was too thick to see if there was any blood.

"Return me to my country at once!" Agata demanded, as soon as she realized she had his attention. "I demand to return to my homeland!"

Mustang regarded her a moment before more security personnel surrounded him, blocking her from view, and his eye dropped to the pedestal in front of him. The dragon was still watching him, but now the eye was wide with fear, the angry growl a grimace of pain. The change in expression wasn't surprising; its perspective had been shifted quite a bit, as its head was now in pieces, as was its body.

Oddly, his first thought was to wonder who he could get to repair it at this time of the night.

- x -

**Author's Notes:** I hope it's not terribly obvious, but the last half of this chapter was extraordinarily hard to write. I've never had that much trouble with a fight scene. I don't even know why, but I certainly hope it isn't hard to follow or jagged. So here we have it! Al's caught up with Franklin's sensei, Hakuro has caught up with Ed, and assassins have caught up with Mustang.

Next chapter will include the best of both worlds – exposition AND explosions! As usual, no beta, so if you see any typos, please let me know! I really will go back and correct them all, so let me have 'em. Hah, it's kinda like having about fifty beta-readers, and some of you guys even leave me reviews:cuddles the reviews: I wonder who the lucky winner will be this fic . . . ?


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Note:** Some dialogue was stolen directly from a review by Silverfox. She'll see it when she gets there, I'm sure.

**Special Plugs time! **Silverfox also drew me more fanart! Please hit Photobucket and search jayamitai – everything there is fanart of the Perfect After All series, done by Silverfox! Go send her a review or email and tell her how cool she is!

- x -

"Honey, I'm home!"

As soon as he shoved the front door closed he could hear the steady whisper of water through the ceiling above their front hall. Their townhouse was well-built but still fairly old, and the drainpipes for the upstairs bathroom had inexplicably been run directly over the entranceway, magnifying the loud and embarrassing rattles whenever the upstairs toilet was flushed.

But being a whisper, and not a rattle, the noise told him his brother was in the shower.

Alphonse grinned to himself, setting down his suitcase quietly, and draping his long brown traveling coat over it. He'd already announced himself, but he wasn't sure nii-san would have necessarily heard all the way up there, so he crossed their dining room on the balls of his feet, slinking into the kitchen. It didn't look like Ed had eaten yet; there were no dirty dishes in the sink. Al grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water from the tap, and crept upstairs.

There was a trail of clothing starting from the bottom of the stairs leading directly to the door of the bathroom, which Ed had forgotten to even close, let alone lock. His coat had been the first thing shed, followed several stairs up by his shirt. At the landing his right arm armor and a boot had been worked off, and another four steps found the other. Once on the second floor, his slacks and a sock had been wormed off. The second sock had proven to be such an obstacle it was actually hanging on the railing around the stairs, with his leg armor lying across the floor, and his boxers were stationed in a heap in front of the hall closet, where he'd obviously stopped to get a towel on his way into the bathroom.

Ed didn't believe in a trail of breadcrumbs. Bread was food. If you wanted to leave a trail, use something inedible.

Al tiptoed toward the bathroom, grinning again at the gusts of steam billowing into the hall. Nii-san still loved his hot showers, but only as a morning thing; any time thereafter, he preferred cool. Usually because he'd been working or sparring during the day at some point to warrant the second shower, and he was hot already. It was only a quarter after seven, though, so this definitely counted as morning.

He wouldn't mind a wake-up shower himself, but with Ed hogging all the hot water, he'd have to wait. There hadn't been time to get one in Jannai before driving back. Of course, that was five hours ago, so it could hardly be called a 'wake-up' shower, but still, the chilled water in his hand was no substitute.

Of course, he wasn't the one it was going to wake up.

With practiced ease, he tossed the contents of the glass in a high arc, watching the water sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the small, high window as it fell towards the oblivious figure in the shower. There was no telling exactly where nii-san was; their tub was pretty large, and the curtain was opaque. It was better to just coat the entire area.

"RAUGH!"

Al leapt back with a laugh as the curtain was swept aside by an angry arm. It was skin-toned; there was no reason for Ed to shower in the armor unless he had company, and neither of them had brought anyone home since returning to Amestris.

"Dammit, Al!"

"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully, moving back into the hall to avoid the possible retaliation of an extremely damp tackle. "Miss me?"

"Like a hole in the head," his brother groused, grabbing the old silver faucets and cutting off the water. "Right at the end, too," he grumbled. "You really know how to wreck someone's shower, Al."

"That's what they call me. Alphonse Elric, Wrecker of Showers."

His brother stepped onto the bathmat, grabbing his towel and yanking it over his frame, and Al busied himself collecting his brother's discarded clothing. There was no real need to worry about him, or inspect him for injuries; if Ed's burns had still been bad, it wouldn't have been that hot of a shower.

However, the fact that he'd shed his clothes without picking them up himself meant he'd done it recently. Probably the reason for the lack of breakfast dishes, too – he'd just gotten home.

Which meant he'd spent the night working on Sorn's notes.

"We have class today, you know," he called as he heard heel-first tramping from the bathroom to one of the bedrooms. His answer was a door slamming, but it did nothing to remove the grin from his face. He'd collected and refolded all the clothes by the time his brother emerged, properly dressed and adding the last wrap to his braid. Ed held out his hand for his boots, which Al agreeably passed to him, and he collected the armor as the two clomped downstairs.

"Find anything interesting?"

"Met Sorn's sensei. Very nice man."

Ed nodded, plopping down in an armchair to loosen his bootlaces. "The guy any good?"

"Cured a plague in Franklin's hometown about eleven years ago."

Ed froze in the act of untangling a rather impressive knot. "Sorn's parents died of it, didn't they."

"Yes. Along with most of the town's. Whole generation of them grew up without parents. Pretty well adjusted, considering." Rachel had been, at any rate.

Ed digested that as he pulled the now-unlaced boot onto his foot. "So you think that's why he's after a Stone?"

Al shrugged, glancing around the living room for a message or letter. Ed was acting as if they had to run out the door that second, but they had a good ten minutes before they'd need to leave for the Academy. "Couldn't tell. Blane never mentioned it outright. How about you?"

Ed reached over to the fireplace, where he'd placed the leg armor, and rolled up his trouser leg. The mechanism slipped on easily, and the three catches clicked smartly into place. "Didn't get too much of a chance to study before Hakuro showed up." He pulled a fresh sock onto the armor, then followed with the other boot. "Spent the last six hours explaining to him that he couldn't debrief a civilian."

"Obviously not, since you left yours in front of the closet-"

"Don't gimme a hard time. I'm tired." It was almost a whine. "At any rate, my current going theory is that Sorn is trying to transmute a Gate to another world."

That stopped Al dead in his tracks. "What?!"

"You heard me." Ed was shrugging his right arm and shoulder out of his shirt. "Astronomy, geography, your notes on the Gate you transmuted from this side . . . he didn't get them right," his brother added with a grunt, shoving his arm into the 'automail.' "But he got close."

"Are you sure he's not just theorizing other ways to make a Stone? Does he know how yet?" He'd translated his _notes_? He'd written those just before attempting to transmute the Gate to where nii-san was, and it had been his most complex set by far.

Ed shook his head, only because he couldn't shrug yet. "Dunno. Unless the steam engine upgrade or the children's novel contains encoded Stone research, I didn't find any. Didn't find any chimera research, either." Al watched his brother frown as he wiggled his fingers inside the armor. "Don't suppose this Blane mentioned anyone Sorn might have been working with?"

"No. Kids in the town said he didn't have a lot of friends growing up, so he stuck close to Blane and studied."

Edward was rolling his shirt sleeve back down. "Figures."

"What were you thinking?"

"Maybe his buddy was doing the chimera research. He couldn't have gotten them that perfect on his first try, Al."

Al thinned his lips in thought as his brother stood, shrugging his shoulder to settle the arm.

"And I was hoping we'd know who we were meeting before we got there."

"Eh?"

Ed flashed him the first grin of the day. "We have an appointment this morning."

Ah. So there _was_ a reason nii-san was hurrying. "Really."

"Yep."

"With whom?"

"Sorn and friends. If he's around. Otherwise, just friends."

In other words, nii-san had no idea. "The friends with the guns and the 'You'll never need a get-well card again' card?"

Ed grabbed an orange on his way to the door. "I hope not. They have a bad habit of interrupting."

- x -

"Mr. Tringum sir?"

Fletcher leapt away from the shelf with a half-muffled shout, backpedaling to keep his balance and barely catching himself before he took out the bookshelf behind him. The leatherbound volume of _Petiolated Leaves and Their Properties_ squeaked slightly, blinking large eyes –

He took a deep breath, and wiped an annoying rivulet of sweat off his temple with his right sleeve, steadying himself on the bookshelf behind him. "Sergeant."

"I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized, her voice muffled by the several thin booklets on sessile leaves currently between them. "It's just, I didn't see you come in, and I finished . . ." She trailed off, and Fletcher re-approached the bookshelf, having to duck to see her through the shelves and double rows of books.

"Finished? With the investigations?"

"With . . . well, the official investigation." It was more than a little guilty.

Fletcher stared at the rows of books for a moment, contemplating his options. He was pretty gross from his work clearing the feedback on grid thirty-two. The bookshelf gave him a pretty good stink-barrier, so he couldn't offend her from here, but she was obviously _not_ referring to the official investigation when she said she'd finished, which meant –

Which meant she was referring to the _other_ investigation. Where southern Amestris was part of some huge conspiracy to do something that none of them were as of yet aware.

And she'd probably want to be quiet about it. Which meant she wouldn't want to talk through the bookcases.

Fletcher sighed in defeat, shuffling down the long aisle. He felt dog-tired and he knew he must look it; Russell had actually offered to drive him to the library despite the fact that Russ was actually the relief, and should have started work immediately after he stopped. Grid thirty-two had seen some heavy fighting, and was unfortunately near the end of the shopping district, so there were more than a few storeowners pushing for it to be cleaned up ASAP.

Which meant doing physical labor as well as alchemical. He'd be perfectly happy to curl up and have a nap before class, but there was this niggling thought in the back of his head that the vein structure in the petiolated leaves would allow him to control the level of sunlight compounds introduced into the plant would absorb –

It took forever to get to the end of the aisle, and he found that Sheska had been pacing him impatiently. She glanced around quite openly before handing him a slim folder, and Fletcher briefly forgot about his mental complaining as he opened it.

To find a dossier on Avram Blane.

"You kept repeating the tax number, so I looked him up," she offered, as if it was the payment for his continuing to humor her. "But Avram Blane doesn't seem to be the alchemist you were looking for. There was nothing that indicated he'd been using tubers in his research at all."

Fletcher flipped to the second page, thoroughly absorbed. For being a non-certified alchemist, he'd certainly made a name for himself in the healing arts. He'd published a couple papers, too, mostly on separating proteins in solutions through a mixture of chemistry and alchemy.

Pity there was that stupid rule about the Academy only accepting certified alchemists. It looked like Al was really onto someone that could help them out.

"Huh," he noted, when he realized too much time had gone by since Sheska last spoke. "No, I guess not. Well, I must've had the wrong person. Sheska, where did you find this?"

She just stared at him, clutching a worn brown binder close to her chest. Obviously containing more 'evidence' of the southern Amestrian conspiracy. "I was doing all the research into everyone else," she murmured, as if it was self-evident, "so it wasn't any trouble at all."

The third page enumerated every mention of Avram Blane in the Central libraries, and all his residences. He'd been born and grown up in Central, so at least he wasn't part of her conspiracy, but then, of course, he'd moved south to Souse, then Arturu, before finally moving to Rountal, which wasn't even as north as Central. That was probably why she'd gone to the trouble, actually – she'd seen him in a southern Amestrian box and just assumed the alchemist he'd been looking for would fit into her theory.

This would obviously be valuable if he actually cared, but he wasn't sure Al would need it. Then again, there was no guarantee that Al wouldn't. And she'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble . . . or maybe not, for someone with an eidetic memory. "Thank you," he said, making sure his tone conveyed his sincerity.

She seemed to shrink several inches as she visibly relaxed. "So you're not mad?"

"Of course not! This is wonderful. I could never have dug up all this information on my own. Thank you."

"Even though he's not the right alchemist? I looked all over for references to tubers when I did the research, but I just couldn't find anything-"

Dear god. She didn't stop. She didn't sleep. She was like . . . the Mechanical Librarian.

Hah! They should name all the librarian and reference assistants like they did alchemists. Maybe he should suggest it in class later, to while away the time.

"Sergeant." He said it as gently as he could. "I am capable of doing my own research. You didn't need to do this, and I feel badly about using up some of your valuable time."

Sheska looked down shyly. "It wasn't a bother."

"Did it you find anything else to corroborate your theory?" Considering she'd gone to all the trouble, the least he could was listen . . .

She glanced around again, but still seemed too shy to meet his eyes. "There are more." It was a whisper.

Oh, the things he did for Alphonse Elric. "But didn't you find anyone from the west? Or the north?"

She shook her head. "Not many." When she finally looked up, the usual fervor was burning in her eyes. "I'll figure this out."

"I know," Fletcher said, and he meant it. She'd figure out that it was all a coincidence.

Eventually.

He lifted the folder in acknowledgement, starting to walk towards the front of the library, and she continued pacing him. "So are you thinking of asking this alchemist to take the certification exam? Or is he really not the one you were looking for?"

Fletcher almost laughed. "Are you trying to bolster the ranks with non-Southerners?"

A thin hand flew to her lips. "Oh, I would never-"

"It's okay, sergeant." He glanced back down at the folder again as they passed one of the large tables. "He's not the guy I was looking for, but he does sound interesting. We could use more alchemists familiar with straight chemistry."

"There were a lot of repeat articles I left out," she admitted as they both moved to curve around the card catalogue. "Mostly about the attack and plague in Jannai."

Fletcher frowned, but kept walking. Jannai . . . that's right; she must have left it off the list of residences because she knew he already knew that one. "Plague?" Attack? Attack of the plague?

"Yes. It must have been terrible. Although a little superstitious, if you ask me," she added with a sniff, and it was all Fletcher could do to keep his expression even remotely neutral.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

They were nearly to the front island of tables, which Fletcher had noticed on his way in had been put back in their usual configuration of empty. Escape was so close, but now he was curious, dammit-

"Oh, I left that part in," Sheska said, gesturing towards the file. "After the plague was cured, the villagers were so afraid it would return they renamed the town to Jannai. It was originally called Arturu."

. . . because a plague wouldn't be able to find you again if you renamed the town. He was actually with Sheska on that one; that was a little superstitious. Even for someone who confused homunculi with aliens.

"Wow," he agreed. "I need to run home and grab a shower before class, but thank you for this." He smiled at her, and watched her hesitantly return it.

"It was no problem," she murmured. "I'm glad to help."

He had to squash the sudden urge to hug her. She wouldn't really appreciate it, considering how sweaty he currently was, but she looked so much like a kid when she did that-

With a shake of his head, he headed out the main doors. Now that sessile vs. petiol leaves had been firmly chased out of his brain, it was chewing on something else. Arturu, Arturu . . . it sounded familiar, like he'd heard about it recently. Which he couldn't have, not if it had been renamed to Jannai years ago . . .

It was a southern town. Sheska had been rattling them off, when she'd listed all of Mustang's subordinates.

"_And Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery was born in Bithport! And Dr. Timothy Patterson in Arturu!"_

So Patterson was actually from Franklin's hometown. But he was older, by at least five years, so maybe he'd lived in the village long enough before the plague that he'd kept the old name. He didn't seem like the superstitious type, considering he was a doctor.

Hell, maybe that plague was the _reason_ he was a doctor. Either way, Al was obviously in Jannai to track down Franklin, but he probably hadn't thought to ask Patterson. Maybe the kid was just sick, and instead of throwing him in a hospital, Patterson let him crash at his place. So this whole manhunt could be called off with no harm, no foul . . .

Of course, if he swung by the hospital, he was more likely to get a shot than a shower. Still, the kid was just a kid, and there was obviously something up since Al had known Sheska was under investigation, and he still hadn't explained his sudden, secret promotion-

Fletcher sighed, gripping the folder tightly, and rolled his head on his shoulders. Then he headed south, for the HQ hospital.

- x -

"Don't be absurd. The only reason they were here was to observe and figure out how their assassins were failing!"

"Keeping them here against their will is equivalent to a declaration of war-"

"- say it's high time-"

"Let's be reasonable, gentlemen-"

"-insulting! We must not allow-"

He never thought he'd actually _miss_ Chamber Speaker Durnd, but he would have given half a year's salary to have him present, rather than in his hospital room. He wasn't the Speaker of the House, but he had a voice like a bull moose and hated idle speculation. He wasn't so much a calming presence as a silencing one.

Of course, there was another way to get Parliament's attention, one he'd been aching to try out, but he was saving that for a rainy day. Since obviously he'd be inside, and his gloves would be dry.

So he had to settle for merely staring at them in a disappointed manner until they got the message.

The idle speculation wasn't really so idle. All of the Drachman 'ambassadors' were demanding to be returned to Drachma. He had First Lieutenant Ross and the master sergeant keeping an eye on the women, but as of yet he hadn't even allowed them a phone call. They had been checking in with Tolya quite regularly prior to the attack, so he couldn't keep them under house arrest forever. No matter if he could claim it was for their own safety; it would be interpreted as a hostile act.

One of them, Ambassador Agata, had been present in the hallway just prior to the attack, when she had no reason to be. She might have been hoping to cause a distraction, as her dress could barely have been considered eveningwear, but she might also simply have been the first woman to make her move. She was by far the most outgoing of the three, and considering her behavior at the dinner he attended the evening of the underground explosion, it wasn't unexpected.

Despite Armstrong moving to protect the ambassador, at possibly the cost of her own life, the selfless act had bought them nothing. Agata escaped with nothing more than some slight bruising, but he had no doubt she'd use that to her advantage. If they continued the house arrest, he didn't want to even speculate what she'd tell Tolya had happened when all was said and done. If they discontinued the house arrest, Tolya would be informed of the attack immediately.

And that could be problematic.

The fact that the four men had been wearing Amestrian uniforms that had been made for them, as opposed to stolen from an officer or a laundry facility, was also extremely troubling. And the fact that they got into his branch of the building without proper ID was unacceptable. If the enemy continued to use such tactics, they were going to end up killing someone. And while he doubted it would be him, there were many important officials in the building, and all had been at risk.

And that truly could not be tolerated. The problem was that he was more certain than ever that the Drachmans were not behind this.

Ambassador Agata had been right. The accent had been better this time, but quite obviously wrong on the word 'die.' Even to his untrained ear, it had a quality that didn't belong to a native Drachman. Unfortunately, all he had was his word that his memory was accurate. And his word was stretching very thin with Parliament these days. And then, of course, there was the irrefutable fact that all four assassins had been killed-

Which was also concerning. He'd allowed Hawkeye and Falman to deal with Goodman and Brooks, and the two bodyguards were still stationed beneath him. In fact, they were positioned by the only two entrances to the Hall, and both were still armed. Whatever they'd told Riza, she'd either bought it, or she was giving them a chance to screw up again.

Either way she hadn't mentioned it, but it had been a busy morning. He wasn't sure anyone had fixed the jade dragon yet, either.

"Gentlemen," he called loudly into the microphone. It took a moment, but eventually all but the die-hard back-biters had quieted. Prime Minister Roy Mustang hid his surprise and continued. He needed to be careful; while the press had not been invited to this session, as that would have led to outcry from the public and very possibly danger to the Drachmans, most of Parliament had not seen the damage to his wing. They were relying on gossip to gauge how successful the attempt had been. Underplaying the danger was foolish, but allowing them to blow it out of proportion to facilitate Hakuro's push for war-

Incidentally, this would probably be an excellent time to determine just how much Hakuro's voice was getting through to the Parliament.

"Thank you for assembling on such short notice," he began, pausing to make eye contact with each one of them. "As you may have heard, late last evening, around midnight, four men dressed in Amestrian military uniforms breached the Prime Minister's wing and attempted to kill me." It was a very odd thing to say so matter-of-factly. "I stand before you today due to the quick action taken by my security staff and Major General Olivier Armstrong."

There was a brief uproar, though the voices he could pick out were demanding more detail, rather than being shocked. "Though I am responsible for the explosions heard at the time of the attack," he added, as if it had just occurred to him. At least that could lessen the impact of the destruction, once they saw it. Technically he _had_ caused most of it, and it was almost impossible to tell a grenade had gone off unless you inspected the burn marks on the floor quite carefully.

"It is also true that Drachman Ambassador Agata was present at the time of the attack."

This time he expected the murmuring, and he let it continue until it died back on its own. "She happened across Major General Armstrong and me in the halls, and I believe was there to confront us regarding possible plans to invade Drachma." Ah, there was the pindrop silence he'd so missed. "I have assured the ambassador, and will assure you, no such plans are currently in place."

The silence erupted into the previous chaos, and he gave an exaggerated sigh, so those speakers closest to him could see his shoulders rise and fall. Then he scanned his audience, waiting patiently for silence. The room was packed; the balcony of the Hall was nearly full today. While the press had been politely required to remain outside until deliberations were finished, most of the staff had been invited. It meant that within hours after the meeting, the contents would become public knowledge. It would still be front page news, but in rumor only. He had no desire nor ability to permanently hide this attempt from the public. All he could do was place some reasonable doubt into everyone's mind as to the identity of the attackers.

The Major General was present up there, though he could barely see her; she was visible in a sea of military uniforms only by her straight blonde hair. Patterson had been called in almost immediately by Parliament security staff, though Olivier was the only one treated. The second gunshot he'd heard had apparently been an attempt to shoot through her to him, and had grazed her left side. Barely enough to need stitches, but still enough to scar. She was giving no indication that it was paining her, however; at a glance she appeared as healthy and chilly as ever.

Chilly and unreadable. He hadn't spoken with her this morning, yet, but even if he had, he doubted he'd know what she was thinking.

"Gentlemen," he called again, when order didn't seem likely upon returning swiftly.

"All due respect, Minister," a voice shouted, and the din died down for it, "why the hell not?"

And here was the line that was either going to work – one more time – or lose him this fight. "I am more convinced than ever that Drachma is not behind these attempts."

He definitely wasn't going to tell them that Agata had identified the accents as false. Nor was he going to say that he had. They wouldn't buy it, and with the General perched on the right-hand side of the tiers, observing 'his' goldcoats in action, he was likely to be arguing it until he was blue in the face. No, there was a better way to accomplish this.

And she deserved it, for that little stunt she'd pulled the night before.

"Do you like the attention?" another speaker quipped, and there was a brief bout of laughter. He smiled.

"The first assassin was unable to successfully incapacitate my Chief of Security, despite the element of surprise. The second, and the one most likely to have gotten a clean shot, was cut down by his fellows' fire. A third was shot as he attempted to kill Ambassador Agata."

Rather than an uproar, there were a series of low mutters. He'd spoken with Parliament enough to recognize the sound for what it was; an attempt to speak with like-minded colleagues without allowing other Parliament members to overhear. If Hawkeye was watching, she had an excellent opportunity to see if anyone was giving the general any significant glances.

"Furthermore, we happen to have an expert on Drachman military and guerilla tactics here in the Hall," he added mildly, "and she was there to witness this attack. If I may call Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong to the podium?"

The Speaker, who had until that point been content to let him try to keep order on his own, could not ignore such a specific request. "If it pleases the House, I call expert witness and Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong to speak before her Parliament."

There were no indications that this was unacceptable, and Roy stepped off the podium, watching the major general stiffly take her feet and disappear from view. She re-entered the hall soon thereafter, on the ground floor, and didn't even glance at him as she stalked past to take the podium at the Speaker's gesture.

"Would you like to address the Parliament, Major General?"

She glanced out over the assembled men, rigid and proud. "I would not."

Another low murmur, though the Speaker was unsurprised. Parliament was accustomed to that sort of response from the military, though less so since Mustang had become Prime Minister. "Would the House like to address the major general?"

The members didn't miss a beat. "Is it your belief the men that attacked last night were not Drachmans?"

Olivier fixed the official, Speaker Morian, with a cold look. "Of course."

She didn't elaborate, and Mustang very nearly grinned. She was going to make this hard on both of them.

Morian wasn't off-put. "That was a very confident answer. Why do you believe that?"

"Your Prime Minister, his chief of security, and I would be dead," she replied flatly. He noted she included herself, despite the fact that she'd probably both dodged a bullet and knocked him out of the path of one in the same move. He didn't doubt for a second she had excellent combat skills. But neither had been aware of any danger at all until Hawkeye had warned them, and as she had had no warning before the attack on her, it was Hawkeye that was to be commended for saving both their asses last night, Drachmans or not.

Morian gave a sly smile at her answer. "Is that so. So then, who do you believe they were?"

Armstrong paused a moment, blinking slowly. "Based on their tactics, I would say ex-military or military men, of low rank, from a country that doesn't engage in small-team missions."

Well, that statement excluded Xing, at any rate, as well as Drachma. And while they hadn't worked well together, they'd been organized, which usually meant they were accustomed to not having to watch for teammates, but weren't necessarily unfamiliar with their task. Maybe a team of mercenaries, that had never worked with partners before?

"Please, major general. We're civilians."

"Their teamwork was sloppy and they were inattentive." Roy took a moment to wonder if Olivier and Alex had been raised by the same people. "This indicates they were not used to working in quarters where their stray fire could strike one of their own. Drachmans are extremely adept at this, since their homeland is nothing more than an ice and pine forest." She glanced up, to the right, but Roy didn't take his eyes off her as she continued. "Those men were used to fighting side by side, which indicates their experience was with wide, flat spaces. Avenues, plains, deserts. It's difficult to tell, as their uniforms and firearms were Amestrian."

Though not regulation. She didn't mention that, and he wondered at it.

"So, it could have been Aeruga, Creta, or Xing," Morian finished, his sly look never leaving. "That's very specific of you."

She didn't move.

Morian turned to his fellows. "Any other questions for Mustang's dog and pony show?"

Mustang kept his neutral look with effort, even as the Speaker offered the Major General a hand to assist her off the podium. She did not accept it, and the look she gave Roy as she passed was withering.

He retook the podium at a gesture from the Speaker. "Thank you for your comments, Speaker Morian," he said coolly. "Though even as a civilian, I'd have expected you could connect the dots."

"Oh, I see. This is a military matter now, is it? Were you planning on actually _using_ Amestris' armed forces anytime in the near future?" Morian glanced around at the assembled speakers. "We might even consider allowing it, if you'd even try to see reason-"

"A soldier completes his mission above all else," he interrupted, allowing just a tiny thread of anger to cut through his tone. "When faced with capture, the men that attacked yesterday evening chose not to take their own lives, nor the lives of the security personnel that were the largest threat to them. They chose to attack an unarmed civilian, the only unarmed person present, when they couldn't get to me."

Morian allowed the interruption, though he hadn't yet retaken his seat, and Mustang regarded him with the best disappointed frown he could muster. "They wore uniforms made for them by a local seamstress, used weapons bought from a local Amestrian dealer. Yet they spoke with heavy Drachman accents – why would they do that, when they were so careful on all other counts? Why would they attack Ambassador Agata if she was placed here by their Supreme Commander to help them?"

"Obviously to feed into your delusion," Morian shot back. "I'm certain Shurik Tolya is beside himself with happiness. You continue to give him reasons to attack us without even considering striking back-"

"Briggs is our first line of defense, and I have received assurances that it will hold." Getting into a shouting match with Morian wasn't going to sway the others. "General Hakuro's interview process is moving along swiftly, and should be completed by the end of next week." Though it was likely news to Hakuro. "I appreciate your patience, and I assure you that when the true culprits are found, they will be dealt with swiftly and with appropriate military action."

Morian retook his seat, but his voice was still audible over the collective murmur. "Those platitudes wear thin, Minister."

- x -

"So what'd you write in your letter to Winry? Did Patterson make it out there?"

Ed picked his head up off the headrest, rubbing his left shoulder idly. "Oh. I called her, actually."

Alphonse didn't take his eyes off the squat, two story brick building they were both staring at. "Didn't she say not to?"

"While you were gone, I went to ask Doc to check her out. He couldn't go since one of the goldcoats is in for something, so he recommended one of his colleagues. Cranky old guy named Ackernath went down there yesterday." He chuckled, low in his throat. "No one interrupted Hakuro to tell him there'd been a violent murder in Resembool, at least not this morning, so I'm going to assume everything went well."

Al shifted to make himself more comfortable, resting one arm casually on the steering wheel. They'd decided to take Al's rental, rather than the Parliament-issued vehicle, just in case. And rental was really a loose term; Zach had let him borrow it on the grounds that he hired someone to drive it back today, and for a pretty hefty price. He and Bert also seemed to derive amusement from the fact that they hadn't revealed they'd had one until he'd not only taken a horse-drawn cart to Rountal, but actually hiked the thirteen miles back.

Of course, they didn't know that he'd gotten picked up by another cart about two miles down the road, and lectured by the smallest, oldest lady he'd ever seen about how dangerous the roads were, and how he shouldn't have been walking them in the dark, alone. He had politely not pointed out that she was also alone until she'd guilted him onto her cart, and it wasn't safe for her to pick up strange men walking the roads at night. She'd dropped him off about a half-mile from Jannai.

"So she's already been seen?"

"Assuming they let him in the house, yeah."

"That's good."

Ed grunted his assent, then pulled out his pocketwatch. Al waited for it to snap closed.

"So, people were supposed to show up at eight, were they?"

"Don't start." Obviously Ed was also wondering if he'd decoded the message properly.

"It could have been left as a trap or distraction for someone going through his things," Al offered. After all, Franklin hadn't been present when the men with guns had dropped by, and they'd obviously been hoping to find him there, so perhaps the note Ed found had been meant for them.

Ed made a disgusted noise. "It's twenty after. If they were going to show, they would have."

"Unless they went in some other entrance." They hadn't actually gotten out of the car, after all, considering they'd arrived just five minutes till eight themselves, and were afraid someone might have already arrived.

"So, you want to check it out?"

"Can't hurt." They'd already cancelled their eight o'clock's, after all. He hadn't let nii-san leave until they'd done so, and Paise hadn't asked why.

Then again, she rarely did. She really was far too unflappable for her age. Only a few years older than they were, but she had the same basic personality as Mary Marguerite.

Except for the penchant for guns. She wasn't likely to shoot them for the stupid thing they were about to do, whereas Mary Marguerite wouldn't have hesitated. Maybe that would come with age.

Then again, that would eliminate Hawkeye's excuse . . . he'd have to blame her issues on too much time spent with Mustang and Hughes.

His brother opened the car door and Al followed suit, stretching briefly after he stepped out. Too much time spent in the car today, and not enough sleeping or moving around. He hated to admit it, but he was also slightly sore from all the hiking and cart-riding of the day before. It was worrying, that cleaning up the feedback as steadily as they had been was wearing him out. He'd have to be careful not to mention it to Patterson – Doc was getting crazy with the vitamin shots. He was ecstatic he could finally push proper nutrition on a whole class of over-achieving people who rarely ate well, worked long hours, and almost never slept on a regular schedule.

Though in nii-san's case, it had probably saved his hair from his self-inflicted fireball. "The usual?"

"Sure."

Without another word, they split up, and he chose to circle around the back. Funny, that he'd been thinking of Mary Marguerite and now they were performing a standard German military maneuver. For almost the same reason, too; the quiet extraction of a citizen wanted for questioning regarding national security.

That was a sobering thought. Using Nazi tactics in Amestris.

There was, of course, a back entrance, and Alphonse was not surprised to find it locked. Two small, grimy windows flanked the door, making large transmutation unfeasible, so he simply moved the tumblers into the proper configuration and bound them there. If Franklin was in the room, he'd have noticed, so Al moved quickly, yanking open the door and keeping it between him and the room.

There was no sound at all from inside. After waiting a beat, he stuck his head around the door.

It opened into a musty hall, with rooms branching off on both sides. Cobwebs filled the doorway, but there were places on the floor where the dust had been disrupted. Someone had been here in the last few days.

Cautiously, Al headed in, keeping to one wall. The wood floor was quiet; he kept his feet and his weight close to the support structures of the wall, as it was the middle of the planks that were likely to complain. All the doors were closed, and there was no whisper of conversation. A brief blur of motion at the end of the hall-

Nii-san. Which meant the front door either led to a lobby, or just the same hall.

This building had obviously been for some kind of administrative task, such as selling insurance, as opposed to manufacturing. There were no large spaces, and it seemed all the rooms would be quite small. Al dared to open the door closest to him, finding what appeared to be a storage room filled with old typewriters.

The place hadn't been abandoned too long; possibly it had been in use until the attack on Central, but five months of standing empty had taken its toll. Thick dust lay across everything, except, oddly, the middle of the hall. There was no indication that the person who had walked through had actually stopped in any of the rooms.

Ed had obviously noticed it too; he frowned, crouching down to rap on the floor. They knew there had to be a stairwell somewhere, since the building was two stories, but it was possible the thing had a basement as well-

The knock resulted in a loud, hollow sound, and Ed glanced up at him. So there was obviously some space beneath the floor, but whether it was just a crawlspace or a basement was unclear. Al just shrugged, and moved on to the next door, taking care to step wide across the hall floor as he did so. They'd really just announced themselves, if anyone had been listening, but he would have expected some sort of retaliation by now.

This door opened into a larger room than the one across from it, and it bore two desks, some chairs, and shelves and shelves of papers. While the footprints in the hall didn't lead into the room, the dust on the floor was quite disturbed, near one of the desks and two sets of the shelves.

Possibly the missing chimera or Stone research . . . ?

Al motioned out the hall, then stepped inside, hopping in alarm as there was a light pressure on his shin. His trousers were cutting into his skin in a thin line, as if he'd just stepped across a strong spider's web, or walked into a thread-

A tripwire.

Something he'd taught his German students to watch for. It was careless of him.

"Get out!" he shouted, tracing the line with his eyes to a very small space between the back of one of the bookshelves and the wall. It was too dark, and too small, to see what kind of explosive he'd tripped, but he clapped, preparing a transmutation of wood, and put his hand on the doorframe-

-and erected a thick wall between him and the bookshelf.

And nothing else happened.

The transmutation had completely severed the wire, and unfortunately, the side he could see was firmly attached to a small eyelet hook that had been twisted into the wood of the bookcase opposite. There had been just enough room to open the door, but no more.

"Al!"

He remained frozen where he was, straining his ears for any hint at all of an explosion. Or something else; perhaps the tripwire merely raised a flag on the top of the building, or released a balloon, notifying someone that it had been entered? Or had armed a pressure-sensitive switch beneath the floorboards? So if he stepped back into the hall, he would trigger something else-

But since his transmutation had taken wood from the surrounding floor and wall, he would have expected to have already set it off, since the pressure would have changed. Maybe not enough . . . ? He put his hand back on the wall he'd transmuted, and slowly put some of the wood back, using it to 'feel' around the structure beneath the floor. He found the struts intact, and there didn't seem to be any unexpected metal . . .

"Tripwire," he called back, keeping the edge out of his voice. Trust nii-san not to have done as he was told. Ah well; his boot camp training had been limited, since he'd been marauding as a doctor and not a soldier. "Don't know what it set off, though."

"Pressure switch?"

Al took the risk, leaning as slightly as he dared and waiting to feel a vibration in the wood, even as he continued his torturously slow transmutation.

There was none. No indication at all of a pressure switch, unless it was made of wood. And he was certain, if that were the case, he'd have already set it off. Gingerly, he took a step back, keeping his hand on the wall, and still, nothing.

"No." It was extremely unlikely that the tripwire had not done _something_, unless it was attached to a dud . . . ? "Anything on your end?" They should probably just get the hell out while the getting was good, and figure it out from a distance-

Al took another step back, releasing his transmutation and glancing back out into the hall to find Ed was crouched low to the ground, at the very far end of the hall, obviously also waiting for an explosion. His head was cocked towards the ceiling, and he was scowling.

"Something's up there," he warned, then put his hands to the ground. He'd also prepared his own transmutation; a ladder sprang up out of the wood floor, climbing to the ceiling, where a hole was opening –

There was a series of clicks, inaudible until the hole had been created. It was rhythmic, almost like a clock, and the speed was constant. Gears of some kind were turning.

Maybe the idea that a flag was being raised wasn't far off the mark. But gears-

Then again, they were after the Mechanical Alchemist. If he was going to leave a trap, it would be mechanical in nature.

And it was obviously in motion.

Ed was already scrambling up the ladder, obviously intent on determining what the hell was going on and stopping it. If it was gears, assuming he could freeze them, whatever was about to happen could be stopped. But it was a hell of a risk, considering they had no idea what they were waiting for-

There was a growing rumbling noise, like distant thunder, and then the entire length of the hall floor just fell away.

Just the floor. The walls of the hall continued uninterrupted, and as Al fell, he had the unreal impression that he was shrinking, and the walls and hallway were growing impossibly above him.

He also had the impression he was falling a hell of a lot farther than twelve feet.

Alphonse clapped his hands, intent on transmuting a parachute out of his coat, and the hallway floor, falling beneath him, impacted something solid with a deafening slap.

- x -

"I believe he's in the apothecary. It's just past Records."

Fletcher flashed the nurse a smile and thanks, and headed down the hall. He was fairly familiar with the second floor of the hospital, considering the amount of time he'd spent working on Al when the Elrics had returned to Amestris, then visiting as a patient himself or with Russ to help those poisoned by the feedback. Still, he was pretty sure he'd never been far enough down the hall to ever see the apothecary.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to. That was undoubtedly the place Doc Patterson used to whip up batches of the things he'd invented 'back in med school.' And while all of them had proven to be excellent medicines, there was no doubt that he, like all scientists, had to have a trial and error period.

And like all scientists, you didn't test your concoctions on yourself. You used hapless plants, or small animals, or your brother. And he didn't think Patterson had a brother.

So he was definitely taking his life into his hands. But if it resulted in finding Sorn safe and sound, it would certainly be worth it, so he just squared his shoulders as he proceeded past the large door labeled 'Records' and tried to look as energetic as possible.

Patterson would see right through it, but he could try.

He knocked on the solid, unlabeled door beyond, at the very end of the hall, and there was a muffled call from inside. Assuming it was permission to enter, Fletcher did so, surprised at how heavy the door was. All the better to keep fumes or explosions down to a minimum . . . ?

The inside was quite a bit larger than he expected, and it was an alchemist's dream. Sunlight poured through ceiling-height windows, illuminating rows of benches, with overhead shelves filled with jars of every element on the planet. The equipment was old but standard, such as mortals and pestles, microscopes, and even a set of antique dial calipers. There was a slight odor of baking soda and bleach, and the clinking of glass instruments.

"Hello?" Fletcher called, closing the door behind him and gazing around the large room appreciatively. It wasn't a pharmacy by any means, but the opposite wall contained shelves of every commercially available drug, obviously for testing purposes. That bench was decidedly less organized, and the white-coated figure of one Doctor Patterson was perched on a black stool, agitating some solution with a glass stirrer.

He stopped what he was doing, craning his neck to get a good look at his visitor. "Good morning!" His cheerful look slowly fell, though, and he turned completely to get a better look at him. Fletcher just grinned, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and made sure he was standing up straight.

"Good morning," he replied lightly, trying not to wince as the doc's face continued to grow more serious.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

He moved forward, grabbing a stool and leaning against it before the doc could tell him to sit down. "Sorry to just barge in. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

The doctor shook his head, eyeing him one more time before turning back to his clear solution. "I'm just fooling around. It drives the nurses crazy, but I have to be close by in case Chamber Speaker Durnd wants to ask me the same question for the zillionth time . . ." He trailed off. "You look a little peaked. Are you feeling well?"

Fletcher nodded. "I'm fine. We ended up doing some manual labor on grid thirty-two."

"The shopping district," Patterson murmured, and Fletcher grinned. He was watching the alchemists so closely these days that he'd actually memorized the grids of the city.

"The very one. I guess we've all gotten lazy, since we transmute more than anything else lately. But I'm fine," he added quickly, as the doctor's eyes were suddenly drawn to his shelf of unlabeled vials. "I actually just got back from the library, and was hoping I could ask you something?"

"Mm," the doctor replied noncommittally, snagging one of the bottles and inspecting it critically. It actually was labeled; now that it had been picked up he could see a sticker on the bottom.

Damn. He _was_ going to give him a shot.

"I don't know if you know-"

"Yes, there was an assassination attempt," Patterson interrupted, searching his bookcase for something else. "Mustang's fine, though."

Fletcher tried not to gape. "What?!"

The doc blinked at him, then grimaced. "Whoops," he muttered.

"What do you mean, there was an assassination attempt?!" And why the hell hadn't Russ told him?!

"Four men. They were all killed." Patterson shrugged, digging into his coat pockets for a pen. "A major general was grazed, but everyone else was fine. I think the Prime Minister was more angry he couldn't question the men than anything. That's really all I know."

Fletcher just digested that as Patterson made a note on the piece of paper at his elbow. "Do they know who did it? Which major general? Who else knows?"

Patterson gave him a sideways look. "Which part of 'that's all I know' did you have trouble with?"

"So they don't know anything? They just showed up? Were any of them alchemists?"

"You're obviously feeling fine," Patterson murmured to himself in an amused tone. "Everyone's fine. I don't know if any of them were alchemists. The major general in question was . . . Armstrong, I think? One of Alex's sisters." He blew out his cheeks. "She's pretty, but scary."

Ah. His older sister, obviously. "So I've heard." That made sense; she'd be in town for the ceremony and she'd probably want to know what Roy's impressions of the Drachman's leader were, since she'd be the first to act if Amestris declared war.

Again, he had the sneaking suspicion Al had only given him the tip of the iceburg. And it made him wonder, suddenly, if he should be asking Patterson this, or he should be telling Al to ask Patterson instead. Though it was unlikely that Patterson would be hiding Sorn if he really had anything to do with whatever was going on, and maybe, if he played his cards right, Patterson would give him a couple clues . . .

"That's actually not what I came to ask you about. But it's certainly interesting," he added, leaning on the counter. Patterson gave him another sideways look.

"You sure you're feeling all right?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just wondering . . . you were born in Jannai, right?"

"Yes," he answered cautiously, giving him a strange look. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, there was a plague there, around a decade ago?"

The doctor put down his pen, giving Fletcher his full attention. "Yes, there was. Again, why do you ask?" He almost looked worried-

Fletcher waved his hands quickly. "Oh, it's nothing like that." Damn, the doc probably thought he'd been doing research because something like it had cropped up somewhere else. "It's just, Franklin Sorn was born in the same town, right? Even though it was renamed from Arturu?"

Patterson tilted his head to the side, almost consideringly. "He was," he affirmed. "Though as boys we didn't have too much contact. I don't know if he even remembers me. He was so young . . ." Patterson trailed off. "Too young to be here," he added quietly. "But then, I guess his namesake was too."

"Namesake . . .?"

Patterson grinned. "Everyone in Jannai called him 'Red Edward,' because he reminded them so much of the famous Alchemist of the People." He chuckled. "Don't tell Ed I told you that; I've been waiting for him to hear about it for a while now."

Fletcher smirked. Yes, that was not likely to go over well with the elder Elric. "Why do you think Sorn wouldn't remember you?"

"He didn't spend all his childhood in Jannai. He and his alchemy teacher traveled the country studying. He spent some time in Central, then east in Liore, and I think they even went through the Great Desert at some point . . ." He trailed off, then shook his head. "I guess I'm kind of the same case, though."

Fletcher wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?"

Patterson looked surprised. "How many other twenty year old second years do you know?"

He had a point. He was by far the youngest doctor in the hospital, but Fletcher hadn't thought anything of it, since he was used to being around incredibly bright people-

Which meant that Patterson was obviously one of the club. "You're right. I never even thought about it-"

"Gee, thanks," Patterson mock-sighed. "Best in class, but of course the genius alchemists just take me for granted-"

"So how young were you when you went to med school?"

Patterson leaned back in thought, surveying his rows of solutions. "Fifteen, I guess. I was lucky enough to approach someone who wanted me to fail, so they let me sit for the entrance exam."

That was one way to look at 'lucky.' "I take it you got the highest grade?"

Patterson chuckled, standing to peruse the shelves of commercial drugs. "Not quite, but high enough that the same doctor allowed me into the school, again in the hopes I would fail."

"Sounds like a great guy."

"His office is on the third floor," the doctor replied, plucking down a box and dumping the bottle contained therein into his hand. "So what made you ask?"

"I don't know if you know," Fletcher tried again, "but Al's looking for Franklin. He missed classes, and I think the Elrics are afraid he worked himself too hard and he's ill."

Patterson nodded to himself, grabbing a small syringe out of the bin on the bench and withdrawing some of the drug from its bottle. "He's certainly taking on more than he should be," Patterson agreed, "but he isn't the only one." He gave Fletcher a long look.

He huffed in protest. "We were moving support beams. They're heavy!"

"Have you ever heard of construction equipment?" Patterson withdrew the needle from the first bottle, and plunged it into the solution he'd grabbed earlier.

Oh yes, he was going to be a guinea pig.

"Have you ever heard of deadlines?" he retorted, refusing to pre-emptively roll up his sleeves. "At any rate, I was wondering, since you two grew up in the same town, do you know where Franklin might be? I mean, have you seen him in the last couple days?"

Patterson shook his head, tapping the air bubbles out of the syringe. "Not since his last checkup," he replied. "And speaking of which, both you and Russ should have been in my office two days ago."

Fletcher narrowed his eyes. "I might be tired, but I can still take you down," he warned, but as usual, the doctor approached him anyway.

"I have no doubt that's true," he responded. "Can I have your left arm, please?"

Fletcher was unable to think of any reason to protest, so he did as he was asked. "Can you think of anyone that might know where he is? And did you know his alchemy teacher that well?"

"Not offhand . . . I assume someone tried him at home? And no, not really. I'm a doctor, not an alchemist." The doctor found a blood vessel easily; they were nicely raised from all the work he'd done that morning, and Fletcher flinched at the unexpected sting of the contents.

"Yeah, Al did. What the heck is this stuff, anyway?"

"Something I designed in med school," came the expected answer, and he turned to toss the syringe at the contaminated waste bin. Fletcher shook out his arm, letting his sleeve fall back down. He'd pulled it too tight, and his arm was starting to fall asleep-

There was a strange sensation in his chest, and he took another breath. It was like his ribs had gotten heavier. A small ball of ice was collecting in the bottom of his lungs, and he took another, deeper breath, trying to shrug off the odd feeling-

Patterson hadn't moved away from him, and he placed a steadying hand on his chest and the back of his neck. "I'm sorry for the pain."

Fletcher tried to shake his head. "Issnot that," he slurred. His tongue was thick, he couldn't move it even though he could feel it, and he started to tip off the stool. He threw his arms out, trying to keep his balance, but he could barely twitch them, and his legs felt like rubber.

Doc seemed to have been expecting it, because the hand on the back of his neck steered and controlled his fall. Patterson helped to lay him on the floor, being careful of his head and shouldering the stool out of the way.

"Doc-" He couldn't move his lips, and it was getting very hard to breathe.

"I'd give you something for it, but anything strong enough to help would show up during the autopsy," Patterson continued, apparently unmoved by his patient's sudden collapse. Fletcher tried to communicate his distress, but he couldn't move his jaw, he couldn't move anything-

Autopsy?

He knew his eyes were wide open, but it was hard to focus. He could feel his tear ducts sluggishly trying to make up for the fact that he couldn't blink. The doctor had knelt at his side, and he could plainly feel the man kneading his left arm forcefully enough to hurt-

No. It hurt because the muscles were cramping. And Patterson had expected it, was trying to ease it.

He was having a heart attack.

Fletcher couldn't move his eyes anymore. He couldn't move anything. His breaths were getting shallower and shallower, and he tried frantically to bring his hands together. It had to be a paralytic, he might be able to pull it out without crossing into human transmutation-

He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't even move his fingers.

He couldn't do anything.

The doctor had given him a paralytic. A fatal dose.

On purpose.

Patterson was still talking to him. "I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone," he said softly, and Fletcher realized he must have looked as terrified as he felt. God, his face was probably frozen that way, would be frozen that way-

This wasn't happening.

Lack of oxygen was slowly limiting his peripheral vision, and he watched it disappear with a kind of horrified fascination, no longer able to even attempt to inhale. He was dying. This is what it felt like to die. And he could feel everything, could still think and comprehend and-

"I'll do everything I can to help Russ." The doctor's promise sounded strange to his ears, and he realized with a start that the room was starting to shrink. There was a terrible chill to his extremities as blood stopped flowing through them. It had stopped flowing to his brain, too. He wouldn't be conscious much longer. Patterson was still in his field of vision, but it was impossible to make out his expression, impossible to focus on him. "Your death is not meaningless."

Another brief surge of panic, but no adrenaline to go with it, no rush of sensation. Even his glands were unable to respond. The doctor was still talking, but he couldn't make out the words, no matter how hard he struggled. He had the impression of a blinding light, but he couldn't be sure he was actually seeing it.

His arm didn't hurt anymore. He couldn't feel the doctor's hands on him anymore.

His heart had stopped.

But he was still conscious.

How could that be?

With a start he jerked upright, sucking much-needed air, but then he realized that he . . . he didn't need it. There was no feeling that he'd been suffocating, no chill to his body. No pain. He scrambled to his feet shakily, staring around at the dull yellow ambient light, aware that he wasn't standing on anything but at the same time able to feel solid ground beneath his feet.

He knew exactly where he was.

He'd seen this place once before, after all. For a few terrifying moments, when they'd been performing an infusion of base metals into Alphonse Elric.

He was dead.

And he was in front of the Gate.

There was an earthen crack behind him, though he knew it was the direction he'd been facing before he spun, he knew he'd already looked in that direction and there hadn't been anything there-

He clapped, preparing to transmute carbon into the air, but then hesitated. Why fight? If he was dead, he had no body to go back to. Russ wasn't there to bring him back.

There was no going back.

Oh, god. Russ.

I'm sorry.

Thin black hands, impossibly two-dimensional, eased around his body, gently taking his hands. Separating them. Again, his instinct was to fight them, and again, he hesitated. They didn't hurt him; they tugged at him in an almost inviting manner, and their flat fingers felt soft and warm. He still didn't turn, almost too terrified to breathe, and as another arm wrapped itself possessively around his hips, he heard a giggle of recognition.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Whew! Longest chapter to date. You can anticipate that things will pick up pretty sharply from here, and they won't slow down till the end. There are a zillion typos, and I've already found several places I tried to make Mustang a her, so if you notice anything, please tie it to that brick in your hand before you lob it my way.

Should I be worried about the tepid reaction to last chapter? For all you new readers, in case you missed it – whenever I write a long fic, I tend to reward reviewers that go above and beyond by writing them a ficlet of their choice. I find it weird that the chapter in which I mention the feedback present should be the one that got the fewest reviews. Was there something there you guys didn't like? Too much plot? Too little action, or too little explanation of it? You disagreed with actions or dialogue made by the characters? I know I'm writing this one for me, and it's pretty darn complicated, but it would be very helpful to me if you guys could let me know explicitly what you do or don't like, so I can improve. Plus, story!present!

(Hopes that reminder of presents might distract readers from throwing bricks.)


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning**: Very mild tearjerk warning.

- x -

He tapped his cheekbone again, firmly, but had much the same result as the last time.

It was still numb.

Damn.

Edward Elric slumped back against the bricks, ignoring the curious look he was getting from the MP standing guard. He was tempted to tell the soldier that he was a civilian, and being held under military guard without being placed under arrest was illegal, but the weight on his right thigh was reason enough for the man to be present.

Besides, there was no real reason to protest. He was leaving them alone, at least until one of two things happened. And Edward was reasonably sure the ambulance would be arriving before Hakuro could possibly show.

Or Mustang, come to think of it. He supposed it was possible he'd want to cover this up, considering there was no doubt the trap had been laid by Sorn. He might already be sending Falman or Fuery to pick them up.

Either way, they were making a stop at the hospital first.

A slow grin spread across Ed's lips as he imagined the looks of shock, the gaping mouths as he actually said that out loud. His face twinged slightly, and he brought up his left hand again, tapping experimentally.

Nothing.

He'd really done a number on it this time.

"Stop doing that," a thick voice slurred, from somewhere in the vicinity of his lap. "S'bad for the nerves."

"You're bad for the nerves," he growled in reply, halfheartedly glaring down at his little brother to hide his relief. Alphonse's head was propped up on his leg, elevated to lessen the strain on his injuries, and the extra six or so inches of height he had looked even longer stretched out on the sun-warmed concrete. "How do you feel?"

His brother's eyes were only half-open, in protest of the sunlight streaming down. "Pretty crappy," he admitted. "Are we still alive?" Then he coughed.

Edward shifted slightly, glaring at the MP until he took the hint and wandered a couple feet away. "Last I checked." He didn't want to even think about the last time he'd checked, crawling on his hands and knees on the shifting ground, trying not to vomit, working his way towards the shadowed, misshapen heap that was his brother's form-

"That's nice," Al murmured, closing his eyes. He deepened his breathing a little, and coughed again. "Ugh. Tastes like dust."

That was no surprise, considering how much they'd both inhaled. The coughs weren't deep, probably nothing to worry about. "Don't move around too much."

"Wasn't planning to." He left his eyes closed, but he was obviously still awake. "S'what happened?"

Edward sighed, his ears perking up as a new siren cut faintly through the ringing sound. "Springs."

Al's eyebrow quirked, though his eyes stayed resolutely shut. "Mm."

"Rows of them. They caught the hallway floor about forty feet down." Just like a giant box-spring, the collection of steel coils had turned a forty foot fall - a potentially fatal one - into one that only injured them. And that array of springs, coupled with the complex mechanism of gears he'd gotten a glimpse of, left no doubt as to who had created it.

"Great." Al took another deep breath, then stretched his back marginally and grimaced. "Ow."

"Should have transmuted your coat, idiot."

"I figured I was only going to fall one story," he retorted, a little grouchily. "My shoulder hurts."

"You dislocated it."

"My ears are ringing, too."

Edward let his head fall back against the brick behind him and listened to the ambulance getting steadily closer. "No they're not."

Al's neck shifted slightly on his leg, and his brother inhaled sharply. "Yes, they are."

He picked his head back up to stare at his brother, whose eyes were once again open, a little wider this time. They were more than a little dilated. And his neck _was_ bothering him, obviously. Al probably had a concussion of his own. "That annoying metallic school bell sound?"

"That'd be the one."

He gestured towards the top of the building. "It's actually there. Went off as soon as the floor fell away." Or, at least, as soon as he'd regained consciousness. He'd thought the same thing, that it was from the concussion, until he'd gotten them outside and found it was quite a bit louder.

He'd also found it had attracted the attention of the local business owners and law enforcement. Showing them his watch had then summoned the nearest MP as well as an ambulance.

Edward had relocated Al's shoulder on the spot, but he wasn't sure that was the only thing wrong with his brother. His unarmored fingers weren't working too well; none of him was, really. He couldn't trust his sense of touch at the moment, which was one of the reasons he kept tapping his face. It felt funny.

He was hoping that was because of nerve shock he received at impact, rather than because his face was that messed up. It could explain all the curious looks he'd gotten . . . but then again, he already knew his face was bleeding. Maybe he'd just broken his nose. His cheekbones felt like they were in the right spots, after all. He didn't really think he'd damaged his actual skull. But the ache behind his eyes was definitely familiar; he was certain he'd aggravated his already-present concussion, and could look forward to several days of light sensitivity and occasional dizziness.

"An alarm?" Al squinted up again, as if trying to make out the little bell, still steadily ringing away. "Why . .. ?"

"To let someone know the trap had been sprung, I'd guess." That was the only logical conclusion. The 'walls' of the hallway had continued down unbroken those forty feet, so that the hallway floor had fallen as a single slab into what was essentially a deep trench. Even though the springs acted as shock absorbers, the fall had still knocked Al unconscious as well as injured him. A non-alchemist would not have been able to crawl out again. And if Sorn really had split town, setting off an alarm with the trap was the only way to guarantee anyone would think to check the building out before the victims died either of their injuries or starvation.

And that, at least, was a small comfort. It meant Sorn wasn't out to kill anyone. Even if his enemies were.

"You land on your face?"

Ed scowled. Why was Al always tactful with everyone but him? "How bad is it?"

"Not so bad, if you'd actually try to look pleasant."

He simpered, surprised when that made it twinge more strongly, and began gently exploring again.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Al." Unlike his brother, he hadn't free-fallen the entire distance. "I caught up with the ladder on the way down."

"With your face?"

Edward seriously considered hitting him. He'd made a grab for the lip of the ceiling when the floor had given, but his armor wasn't automail; there was room inside the metal for his fingers to slide a little. He hadn't had the strength to cling by his fingertips, and had fallen. It had been a simple transmutation to lengthen the falling ladder and jam it between the walls, and while he hadn't managed to catch himself completely, he'd at least slowed himself down.

"No, my face is thanks to you." Because the hallway floor was on springs, and was also a solid piece of wood, not only did it have a lot of give, it also produced a see-saw effect. Al had impacted first, and Ed had badly misjudged where the floor was, since it was on the bounce back up when he hit it. He'd braced his left leg armor to take the impact, but hit bottom a hell of a lot sooner than he'd expected, and the braced armor had sent his weight forward.

At least, that was what he assumed happened. All he really remembered was complete surprise followed by the realization that it was really dark and his face was numb. By the time he'd located his brother, treated him, and transmuted them out of the building, around thirty minutes had gone by.

"Oh," Al murmured, though his voice was not at all apologetic. "What's the other ringing?"

"Ambulance." It was quite loud now; he expected it around the corner any minute.

His brother squinted up at him, suddenly alert. "Nii-san?"

"It's for you, idiot."

Al's eyes widened a moment before he relaxed again. "Oh," he repeated, and then carefully stretched out his legs. "I don't feel _that_ bad . . ."

"How's your neck?" That was the one thing he was worried about, that Al had re-injured his spine. He'd complained of pain ever since he'd been buried alive, five months ago, during his encounter with Craege Irving. Ed had still gone ahead and propped his brother up against his leg to ease his shoulder as well as keep the neck relatively still, but he was afraid even this position was pulling at it.

"Okay," he replied, turning his head slightly back and forth. "A little stiff, though."

Liar.

"Well, try not to move around," he repeated, watching the large, mostly-white automobile cruising up the alley that ran along the back of the building. It came to a stop about ten yards away with a crunch of tires on gravel, and the back doors opened to expel a pair of medics.

"Nii-san-"

"Don't argue with me," he cut him off, even as the MP sauntered back over. As if there was any question as to who was in need of medical attention. "Let Doc check you out. Springs or no, it was a long way to fall."

Alphonse's expression was quickly moving from confusion to something else as one of the paramedics knelt beside him, and Ed smirked when his brother's protesting voice turned plaintive.

Then there were firm, gentle fingers on his face, and Ed jerked back and had to focus on the medic assaulting _him_.

The fingers followed his flinch, and with a brick wall behind his head, he really had nowhere to go. "Hey-!"

"Take it easy." The voice was soothing. "Don't look like you've got much to be grinning about, son."

So his face was bleeding. Big deal. "I've had worse." He raised his left arm to bat the medic away, but it was immediately caught in a strong grasp. The fingers kept hold of his face, the same cotton-covered steel that was present in the older man's voice.

"I can see that," the medic noted dryly. "Hold still. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Edward stopped moving, fixing the man with a flat look. "I'm fine," he ground between his teeth. "I don't need help. My brother, he's-"

"I know who he is." The fingers were withdrawn from his face, showing him that his attacker was a rather lanky man in his late thirties, with a badly receding hairline and a square jaw. The medic hadn't released his left wrist yet, and his right was still tangled up in Al's coat, useless for fending him off. "I know who you are, too." To emphasize his words, he tapped Edward's cheekbone squarely.

Nothing happened.

The man frowned at him, and Edward returned the look tenfold.

"Great. Then get him to the base hospital. He's one of Dr. Patterson's patients. I'll follow in the car."

He got a pair of raised eyebrows, and the paramedic shifted his grip on his wrist, consulting his watch as he did so. Taking his pulse. Which was a lot like still treating him. And delaying getting Al to Patterson. Ed was about to repeat his refusal of medical attention and reiterate his desire for the two paramedics to get Al and get the lead out when the weight was lifted off his leg – Alphonse was sitting up, much to the apparent displeasure of his own medic.

"Sir, please wait a moment-"

"Sergeant!"

Edward hastily untangled his now-freed right arm, moving to support Al's back, but not fast enough. He almost winced in sympathy as his brother gave a surprised hiss of pain, grabbing his left shoulder tightly.

"Al!"

The MP hadn't been far, but he responded to the summons with a smart salute, and Al forced the words out around a clenched jaw. "The man behind me, Edward Elric, is a witness to and victim of an attack on two State Alchemists."

"Al-"

"He is therefore material to a military investigation and is to be taken into custody immediately." All traces of the slurring were gone. "If he resists, arrest him."

"Yessir."

For a moment, Ed was too stunned to say anything. Pulling rank on him was low, even for his brother. Furthermore, how the hell did this MP know about his temporary demotion anyway? He'd been in the military longer, and since they both shared a rank of major, technically he would have outranked Al if not for the court martial. "Al, just listen to me for two-"

Alphonse couldn't turn his head, and Edward was almost glad of it; his brother's tone was quite unfamiliar to him. Some weird combination of angry, worried, pained, and weary. "No. Don't _you_ argue. You're not the best driver on a good day, and that's not our car."

With his right arm freed, Edward was able to fend off his medic, and he scrambled to his feet as Alphonse was painfully helped to his. "Al-"

"It'll have to wait," Al snapped. "We need to get patched up before we can do anything else."

His medic reached out a hand towards him, and Ed evaded, pacing Al as he slowly made his way toward the ambulance. Injuries be damned, they finally had proof that Sorn had been expecting this, had left traps in his notes to slow down pursuers. Had known he was being targeted by someone prior to disappearing.

It meant he hadn't just stumbled onto some alchemist experimenting with chimera.

And the implications there were heavy. It meant they couldn't be sure that Sorn, even without notes to prove it, hadn't been the one transmuting the chimera. Hadn't been the one mining the Incomplete Stone. And if he was still in the city, now he knew that someone had gotten far enough into their investigation to trip this trap. If he was still in Central, he sure as hell wasn't going to hang around much longer.

"There's no time-"

"No." Al's voice was like stone. "Do as I ask on this. Please."

Edward just blinked at him, completely nonplussed, and that same strong hand gripped his left shoulder. "Come on, son. Let's give them a minute to get him settled. I need you to look up for me."

- x -

"Hey! Tringum!"

Russell blinked, glancing over his shoulder as a large shadow descended the wide stone stairs. It was undoubtedly the source of the hail; no one else had a voice quite like Morris did. Deep and smooth. He should have been a singer, but, as many of them had discovered, alchemy was more lucrative than the arts.

Though he supposed he and Fletch had the best of both worlds. Art in alchemy. Healing wasn't just a science.

"Yo," he greeted, leaning against the banister and waiting patiently. Morris didn't keep him long; the large, dark-skinned man was slipping a few sheets of paper out of his physics textbook, and he held them out as he hopped down the last few stairs.

"Took notes for that lazy brother of yours. Tell him he owes me another favor."

Russ raised his eyebrows, accepting the documents without even looking at them. "Wwhu . . . you mean he wasn't in class?"

Morris grinned at him, a brilliant stripe across his almost-black face. "Nope. Good thing for me, though – I killed another of Sara's ferns."

He just nodded, not even really paying attention. It was noon; Fletch and Morris had the same eleven o'clock, Objects In Motion. And there was no way he'd blow the last class of the day if he'd bothered to show up for his eight o'clock . . . which meant he'd probably just gone directly home after shift.

Good, on the one hand; Fletcher had looked wiped. On the other hand, it would have been nice to know he'd played hooky, as he'd gone out of his way to pick up the slacker. Russ sighed, folding up the documents. "Yeah, that's my brother. Probably just crawling out of bed."

"Heh. Him and the Elrics, then."

"Oh?"

Morris was still grinning, tucking his physics book back under his arm. "We were thinking it was gonna be the first time Full Metal was late to a lecture, but the admin staff came in and announced the class canceled. Was a damn shame, too. I actually put something into the pot this time."

So Edward had cancelled the class. It was a two hour lecture, which meant Fletch really might have just written off the rest of the day. "Well, you got it back, right?"

"Yeah, but I was thinkin' it was my lucky day." He sighed. "I take it you don't know what's up, then?"

Russ shook his head. "What, with Elric?"

"Well, you guys bein' all chummy . . . rumor has it maybe a little _too_ chummy-"

Russell rolled his eyes. "You're disgusting, Morris."

The man held up his hands placatingly. "Just watchin' your back, man, that's all. You know this bunch."

That was an understatement. Thanks to that little announcement a couple days back, the rumor mill was split between the people that thought the military proper was trying to make a grab for the State Alchemists, and the ones that thought the State Alchemists were going to be disbanded by the Parliament. He didn't honestly know the whole story there, though he was pretty sure the Elrics did. But even if he had known, he wasn't about to tell Morris. The guy couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.

"BL called out, too. Canned his classes for the day, and tomorrow too. Someone said it was from HQ hospital, so we're all pretty sure he finally got Full Metal checked out from that boom a couple days back."

Russ leaned up off the banister, giving Morris more of his attention. "Did Full Metal actually show up and then leave before class?" It had been days; if Edward really still had burns serious enough to warrant a hospital stay, it might be a good idea to collect Fletcher and pay him a visit. He'd be too impatient to let them heal by themselves, and there was always the risk Patterson couldn't keep a lid on the 'automail.'

"Dunno." Morris glanced up at a greeting from another alchemist. "Didn't see him, though," he added. "Take it easy, Tringum. And tell Fletch I need that plant revived by Saturday night."

Russell nodded with a wave, heading back towards the parking lot. Time to go home, grab a shower and possibly his wayward brother, and go pay Full Metal a visit.

An alchemist that owed you was a valuable thing indeed. And a joint healing was going to be worth far more than a fern revival. Maybe even enough to weasel the real reason for the military inquiry out of them.

- x -

A bright light cut straight to the back of his head, startling him, and he squinted painfully. "Geez, doc-"

"Hold still. You're almost as bad as your brother."

Alphonse Elric did his best to keep watering eyes open as Dr. Patterson presumably watched his pupils react. "You know I had to threaten to have the MP arrest him to get him here?"

The doctor whistled quietly, switching his inspection to the other eye. "Whatever works. Though frankly, I'm surprised it did."

Al blinked, and Patterson leaned in a little closer, shrugging apologetically. "Well, if he really wanted to get away, I don't think a platoon of MPs would slow him down."

"Don't give him ideas."

"Oh, trust me, that's the last thing I want to do." Patterson put the penlight away, marking something on the chart sitting on Alphonse's knee. "You have no idea how thrilled I was at the prospect of being able to put you both in private rooms this time."

Al grunted, favoring his aching left shoulder as he eased back onto the pillows propping him up. "I wouldn't have helped him even if you hadn't. He needs some freakin' sleep."

Patterson shook his head slowly, not looking up. "Pot calling kettle," he murmured.

"Hey, I _got_ some sleep-"

"Falling unconscious during an ambulance ride and sleeping are not equivalent, as you well know," the doctor reminded him mildly. "You're spending the night, by the way."

Al just sighed, glancing around the familiar room. Ed had actually been in this room the last time he'd gotten himself beaten up, though now the bed to Al's left was not occupied by a sleeping Prime Minister. Instead, sunlight streamed through the window to warm empty sheets, pleasantly patterned by the shadows of leaves.

Technically, that tree out there was close enough to serve as an escape route, so it had been poor planning on Patterson's part. Luckily, neither Mustang nor Ed had thought to actually use it for that purpose. And he obviously wasn't going to. If Patterson said he needed to stay, he probably did. A glance to Al's right showed him the IV pole, where three small bags of liquid hung like dull-colored fruit. None were familiar.

"Your rotation is a bit better than I expected," Patterson noted, scribbling further on the chart. "Any pain in your neck?"

He turned back to the doctor, thinking about it. "There's an odd grinding feel to it, but no worse than it was the first time." He was pretty sure there was a decent painkiller in that mix somewhere, because he felt a heck of a lot better than he had when he'd first woken on the pavement outside of the building. Then again, that was apparently four and a half hours ago, so maybe the nap had helped. That and not being in shock anymore. "How's Ed?"

"Sleeping. You should take a page out of his book." Patterson signed the chart with the same odd, constricted flourish that all doctors seemed to practice, taking his feet. The mattress sprang back up as his weight disappeared, and Al rearranged the sheets.

"I'll think about it." The moment he did, he yawned, and the doctor grinned at him.

"I see."

"Why do you want to keep me overnight?"

"The concussion. I don't trust Edward to actually wake you up every couple hours. Mainly because I don't trust _him_ to wake up every couple hours," Patterson muttered. "Both of you have fairly disappointing reflexes. I also want to keep that arm immobilized for a while. There's a sling in the top drawer of your nightstand, but I only want you to use it when you use the head."

Al glanced, taking note. "What about Ed?"

"He'll live. He suffered some contusions, but like most head wounds, they looked worse than they were. He aggravated the pre-existing concussion, of course. The burns are coming along nicely, though." His tone was dry. "Outside of a little shock to his nerves, he's fine. Better off than you, actually. I'll keep him overnight, same as you, for observation. You can probably head home tomorrow, but I want you both to take it easy the next couple days. No teaching, freefalling, or explosions."

"Just for a couple days?" Al quipped.

Patterson narrowed his eyes. "You two are going to be the death of me, you know."

"Then maybe you should discharge us. For your health."

Al blinked; Patterson was right. His reflexes were off, as were his observation skills. He hadn't even noticed the door opening.

Nii-san stood in the doorway in the usual blue cotton hospital gown, arm and leg shining. He looked as improved as Al felt; with his face and scalp cleaned up, outside of a giant egg on his forehead, he was otherwise intact. He didn't even have an IV pole with him, so his pain meds were being administered by simple injection.

Patterson was pretty good about prescribing the right meds. If he wasn't even running fluids into nii-san, it meant Ed was fine.

He really was fine.

"Not gonna happen," Patterson almost sang, dropping the chart into the holder on the foot of Al's bed. "Go back to bed, Elric."

Edward stared at him a moment, almost consideringly. "He okay?"

Al rolled his eyes. "'He' is perfectly capable of answering for himself."

"I only ask because Al apparently thought he was an asshole when he first woke up, and I just wanna make sure he's really himself this time around."

Patterson's eyebrows shot for his hairline. "Wow. Boy am I glad you both have private rooms. Should I leave?"

Al waited for Edward to say something else, but his brother just gave him a steady look. "There is that other bed in here, doc. We'll be fine."

"I'm more worried about the equipment." Patterson was still giving Edward a strange look. "You steady on your feet?"

Edward's eyes never moved from his. "This'll just take a second."

Al almost smiled when Patterson sighed. "Sit. I'll be back in twenty minutes to break it up."

His brother eventually moved to comply, and Patterson gave him a slightly wider berth than usual as he took his leave. The door clicked shut just after Ed's butt hit the second bed, and Al watched him for another moment, silently.

"Your neck is better," his brother observed after a moment, in a far more reasonable tone of voice.

"You really want to take that kid on in this condition?" he replied quietly.

His brother frowned at him. "It's kinda hard to do that when we don't even know where he is. And he sure as hell knows the reverse."

Unfortunately, that was true. It wouldn't hard for Franklin to put together the cancelled classes with his trap getting set off. "So you want to be Dwight, or Missy?"

Ed's eyebrows knit together for a moment before it clicked. "The noise of the gears," he said suddenly. "Damn."

The child's adventure book was actually the recording of the trap he'd set, and the rooms the children investigated were probably a code for the construction of the changes he'd made to the building. The 'thunder' the kids had heard, the storm rolling in – that had actually been the sound of the trap falling into motion. The novel had been dated, but of course he could have back-dated it.

If he hadn't, he'd constructed the damn thing over two months ago.

Which meant he'd either been a target, all this time, or he knew he was going to do something that could potentially make him a target.

More and more, their evidence was pointing to Sorn setting something up, instead of being set up. Unless it was all retaliatory, and he was setting up his escape . . . ?

Either way, he probably needed to give Mustang a head's up. Including everything he'd gotten out of Blane yesterday, and everything Ed had told him about the notes.

Al glanced around, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, it meant his pocketwatch was also conspicuously absent. No matter; it was some time mid-afternoon, which meant Mustang was probably working. It was likely therefore not an opportune time to get him on the phone, even though there was one by the bed. He could always report in to Hawkeye, though . . .

"You really think he's that dangerous?"

Al blinked, refocusing on his brother. "Sorn? I don't know. I've never seen him fight." From what Blane had said, Franklin had little to no combat training, but that didn't mean he didn't carry a collection of useful transmutation circles. His specialty was mechanics, which didn't necessarily lend itself to swift reactions against other forms of alchemy, but it did lend itself to the sort of dangers they'd just encountered from him. Any fight with Franklin needed to be off his normal stomping grounds. He could have boobytrapped a quarter of the city by now. "I do know I'd rather not find out until I've gotten a good night's sleep."

"I've seen him fight," Ed answered, in an unusually quiet voice. "He doesn't seem particularly good at it."

All Al knew of the fight with Irving was that Sorn had taken a hit but lived, and Kirby, twice his elder, had not survived. None of the alchemists attacked had successfully dodged, though he was betting the Strong Arm Alchemist could have if he hadn't been trying to protect his colleagues.

"Let me get this straight. You're pissed because I prevented you from going after him?"

"He's after a Stone, Al. You really want someone else to catch up with him first?"

Unfortunately, that was another good point. "He could have made that trap lethal. I don't think he's trying to kill anyone."

"All the more reason to track him down now."

"And look where? Do you even have any idea where to start?"

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say he wasn't in the hospital room," Ed began, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But seeing as I can't leave because there's an enlisted stuck to my ass, I guess my search will have to stop at the hospital grounds."

Alphonse took a slow breath. The fact that Ed hadn't left already was a miracle unto itself; the simple reason was because he'd asked. He'd said please, and Ed would remain here based on that alone. Which was affirming, in a way, but it was not the reason his brother needed to stay in the hospital. "You have a concussion, Ed," he started, purposefully using his patient teaching voice. It was condescending as hell, and he knew it. "I doubt even your skull can take another knock."

"I wasn't the one that caught the wire-"

"No, you're the one that blew yourself up a couple days ago," he retorted. "There are some risks we don't have to take-"

"You want to risk that kid out there with who knows how much Incomplete Stone? Or the lives he could take if he figures out how to bind it together?"

. . . oh.

Al closed his eyes.

"You don't think he'd make the same decision you did."

Al heard his brother sigh, and the mattress creaked faintly as he slumped a little on it. ". . . I don't know his reasons. But I do know he doesn't have . . . someone to remind him of his conscience."

He didn't have a terrified little brother in the corner, begging him not to.

Al opened his eyes, choosing to look at his brother's bangs instead of his face. "You would have made the right decision on your own," he said quietly.

Ed smiled, one of the empty ones. "No. I don't think I would've."

There really wasn't much to say to that. Obviously they'd never know. And applying that situation to the present . . . that was a flawed way of thinking of the redhead with the too-big nose. Red Edward was not Edward. He wasn't the Alchemist of the People. He was a genius, yes, but he was a gear-head.

He would think like a gear-head.

He would think like Winry.

"When Patterson gets back, remind me to ask him about . . . Ackernath, did you say?"

His brother looked surprised at the change in subject. "Yeah. Actually, he said if she was bad enough, he was going to bring her here for treatment."

"Think Pinako will listen?"

Behind him, the door opened, and Al glanced over. "That was a short twent-"

It wasn't Patterson.

He smiled in surprise as the visitor fully entered the room, a familiar canvas bag over his shoulder. He was followed by the nurse who had presumably led him to them, one Al also remembered from Edward's last stay. The one that had surprised them all by giving the then-intimidating Brooks a quick kiss on her way out.

"Well, this is a surprise," Russell Tringum drawled, setting the bag down just inside the door and giving the room a once-over. "I was expecting Full Metal to be in that bed. What happened to you two?"

Al shook his head as the nurse frowned at both of them, then bustled over toward Edward. "Long story. What's in the bag?"

Tringum grabbed the chair from the corner, pulling it up towards his bedside. "The usual. I thought I'd be treating burns, though."

"You still could," Al groused, not resisting when the other man leaned in to look at his shoulder. "It was dislocated. Not much you can do, I'm afraid."

"You may be bright, but healers you are not."

"You know, I've been thinking of studying up." Ed said it conversationally, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that the nurse was actually turning down the sheets around him. Al smirked; she would simply transfer him to the room and they both knew it.

After all, if he resisted, she could always go get her boyfriend. None of them had actually seen Brooks – or Goodman – in action, but he would bet a month's salary they were both impressive fighters. Significantly more so than an enlisted, at any rate.

"You could always take a class from me, Full Metal."

Edward gave him a dirty look, and Al laughed outright. Edward taking a class from the Winding Tree Alchemist. As if his pride would allow _that._

"Speaking of classes, either of you seen Fletch recently?"

Al felt his eyebrows raise, even as Russell leaned in close, running his hands gently around the swollen joint of his shoulder and back. "I spoke to him on the phone yesterday . . ."

"No, I meant this morning. I actually thought he'd beaten me here."

"No." For a moment, it wasn't clear if Edward was speaking to Russell or the nurse. "We didn't make it into the academy building at all today."

Russell's hands withdrew, and he frowned into his canvas bag as he started rooting around. A female voice broke the sudden silence.

"Tall, blonde, cute?"

All three pairs of eyes swiveled to the young nurse, who used the opportunity to throw a blanket over Ed's bare legs. "Sorry for eavesdropping, but I saw him this morning. He was here looking for Dr. Patterson."

"Really?" Al glanced back at the other alchemist. Russ's tone was a little more sharp than he would have expected, as if the other man was worried. "Was he okay?"

She tutted at Ed as he tried to nonchalantly flip the blanket down, and turned then to look at him and Russ. "He seemed fine. I sent him towards the apothecary. But that was hours ago," she added. "I'm sure he's left by now."

"He wasn't admitted, was he?"

Ed had stopped trying to escape the nurse's mothering, and fixed Russell with an odd look. "Russ, did something happen?"

"Not that I know of," she said with a shake of her head. "You can ask Dr. Patterson when he returns."

Russ just nodded, and she gave him a quick smile before turning back to Edward. "You are not supposed to be walking around, Major Elric."

He crossed his arms. "I feel fine."

"If I see you outside of this room, I'm calling Dr. Patterson," she warned him, flipping the blanket even further over his legs. "You are not sneaking out of this hospital on my watch again."

"I can see why you like Brooks," he muttered under his breath as she withdrew. If she heard, she didn't say anything; she merely patting Al on the foot as she passed by. "I'll bring your lunches to you now, if you'd like to eat."

"That would be nice, thanks."

He also got a smile, and then the door was closed.

"Russ."

Al looked between his brother and the man that had pretended – twice – to be the Full Metal Alchemist. It hurt his neck, so he decided to just stare at a point equidistant between them.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. He's probably out getting groceries or something." Russell gave up on the bag, giving Al an apologetic look. "I don't have the ingredients to repair cartilage or ligaments on this scale. I'll have to come back."

"It's fine, really. Thanks for thinking of me."

"Well, that settles that," Ed announced, and he flipped back the blanket, getting to his feet with a muffled metallic clank. When the two of them just stared at him, he sighed. "Look, you're worried about Fletcher, we're worried about Aunt Pinako, and you need ingredients anyway. Let's just hit the apothecary. I'll bet you a hundred cenz that's where Patterson is right now."

Al continued staring at him, and was more than a little amused that Russ did the same thing. "Because . . "

Ed gestured at some point to Al's right, and he turned to see the IV stand. One of the bags, a lifeless yellow, was nearly depleted.

"How much do you wanna bet that's another one of his med school concoctions?"

Well, that was a good point; he really did feel well enough to get up and wander the hospital, rather than drugged and distant. It would probably be good for his legs, too; he knew he'd landed on his feet, because the soles had tingled unpleasantly when he'd walked to the ambulance and hadn't stopped since. They were probably bruised.

"Didn't that nurse just tell you to stay put?"

Ed shrugged, stretching languidly. "Or she'd get Patterson. Who we want to talk to anyway. It's not like we're going outside."

"I wouldn't in that thing," Russell pointed out, and Al grinned. Blue hospital gowns had a bad habit of not closing well in the back. His opened to the front, though, to allow easier access to his shoulder, so at least there was no chance he was going to accidentally flash anyone in the hall.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Al had already thrown back his sheets, and he gingerly sat up. "Oh, give it a rest. I could use the exercise." If he remained completely still for the next few hours, he was going to be too stiff and sore to even move tomorrow. Which he'd need to do, since he'd have to follow nii-san all over town looking for Franklin Sorn.

"You really don't trust him, do you." Russell sounded amused, helping him put the sling over his head.

"Not as far as I can throw him."

"There was a time you probably could have chucked him a long way."

Of course, Ed had also been a lot lighter back then. And a lot shorter. He very politely did not point this out as the three of them slowly made their way into the hall. And even if Ed's metal boot had been removed, the squeaking of Al's own IV stand's wheels would have given them away plainly, so they didn't bother trying to keep their voices down.

"I dunno, I bet you could have gotten him thirty feet. The automail would have been a good weight."

"It was actually pretty light," Ed corrected, as they rounded the corner towards the nurse's station. There were only patient rooms on their wing, so the apothecary had to be on the other end of the hall. "Pinako and Winry did a good job of inventing new compounds for me."

"To lessen the effect it'd have on his height." Okay, so he could only be tactful for so long.

"Not lessened enough." Okay, so in comparison to _that_, he was still damn tactful.

Edward made a choking sound. "Who are you calli-"

"Edward Elric, get back here!"

Alphonse grinned to himself and kept right on walking. A patient ambling down the hall with his IV stand in tow was simply considered a patient getting exercise. Edward, on the other hand, was considered a patient on the run.

"I'm still in the hospital!" he yelled back, and the brown-haired nurse glared daggers at him from her round nurse's station. "Not by choice," he added darkly, mostly to himself, but Al didn't bother to turn around and look at him.

"So, what did happen to you two, anyway?"

Shit. Ed didn't know Russell was on Mustang's short list.

"Nothing we can get into here," he said quickly, in a low voice. "I'll tell you later." He didn't even turn to look at Russell, who had dropped back a couple feet to wait for Edward. Hopefully his brother wouldn't question it. Not that he didn't think, as Mustang probably did, that Tringum was clean. It would just be better if fewer people knew until everything had been cleared up.

"Uh-huh," Russell commented, but he dropped it. "So what are you two worried about Pinako Rockbell for? Is she here in Central?"

Al started looking at the doors they were passing as Ed started explaining. All were clearly marked; storage, utility, autoclave, Records-

Ah. Of course the apothecary would be the unlabeled door at the end that looked thick enough to house a meat locker. Just in case something mixed inside was unstable.

Al brought the IV stand around, bracing his weight so none of the pull would be on his left shoulder. He doubted he'd be able to hear anything through the door, so knocking was pointless. He did it anyway, and only waited a few seconds before trying the handle.

"You find it, Al?"

He hauled the thick, solid slab of wood open, glancing at benches crowned with shelves of every possible element. "Yep," he called over his shoulder, pushing his IV stand in. "Anyone home?"

It was too late in the afternoon for the sun to actually glare in through the ceiling-high windows, but there was plenty of light, enough to see the room seemed unoccupied. Most of the benches were clean, arranged in the old-fashioned rows that were a little reminiscent of some of the labs they'd seen in Germany. It was quite obvious which one Patterson had chosen as his own, as it was the only one that appeared to have been used in recent history.

And it was the nearest bench to the shelves and shelves filled with government-approved drugs. Not enough to stock a pharmacy, but close.

Al fully entered the room before he smelled it, something sharp, under the usual scent of baking soda and cleaners. It took him a second to place it; he'd expect to smell stale urine out in the gutter rather than in a room so pristinely clean-

With the door out of the way, he could see around the corner of Patterson's bench that a stool had been overturned. Al took another step into the room, eyeing the floor carefully for broken glass. A sample must have fallen-

But a spilled sample wouldn't have hair.

- x -

"She can't be as bad as you say." Russell pushed the heavy door further open, glancing to his right before heading left. "She did a good job raising Winr . . ." His voice died in his throat, and suddenly Russell was moving like he meant it.

Confused, Ed hurried his steps, coming around the door to see Russell already halfway to -

To Al. His brother was crouched on the floor, looking up at them with a mix of shock and sadness, and while his body was blocking most of the view, it looked like . . .

Edward started running, reaching out for Tringum even as the other man brought his hands together. Al had come to the same conclusion; he was launching himself at Russell, moving away from the body. And it was a body, he'd only gotten a second's glimpse and he could see that the man was dead.

It was too late, or Alphonse would have already done it.

"NO!"

Al got there first, safely catching Russell's left forearm. But he couldn't stop Russell altogether, his left arm was in a sling and there was no catching Tringum's right hand.

His right hand, which was prepared for a human transmutation. Now heading for Al's left shoulder.

Edward threw the 'automail' forward, fingers outstretched. He clipped Russ's ribs hard as he jammed the armor beneath Russell's arm, and there was the sudden, weird shock that accompanied absorbing alchemic energy. The three crashed together with Russell in the middle, and Ed saw Alphonse go flying backwards with a cry of pain.

No.

He twisted his wrist, grabbing Russell's right arm and yanking it behind his back as they both fell. He landed hard on top of Tringum, using the impact and his weight to pin him. But he had eyes only for his brother, for Al, who was sprawled on his back, curled around his left shoulder. His eyes were screwed shut with pain, but he was gasping, he was breathing-

The armor had successfully caught Russ's hand. He'd caught the reaction with steel instead of skin.

"NO!" Beneath him, Russell gave a mighty heave, very nearly throwing him off. His next shout was intelligible, and Edward gritted his teeth, shifting his weight and making sure he wasn't breaking Russell's right arm.

"It's too late!"

And it was. They were only a couple feet from Fletcher, close enough to see the texture and color of his skin. He lay just beside an overturned stool, flat on his back. His arms were resting by his sides, fingers relaxed, and there was no blood, no visible wound. His eyes were mostly open, glassy and already starting to film over, and his expression, even in death, was a shadow of –

Of fear.

At that distance, there was no way to deny that he was looking at Fletcher Tringum.

Russell gave another cry, and Ed hung on grimly as he struggled. "GET OFF ME! GET OFF!"

"Dammit, Russ, listen to me!" The alchemist was going to break his own arm if he kept it up. "It's too late!"

"NO!"

Al was pulling himself back up with effort, almost as pale as Fletcher, and there were tears in his eyes. He met Ed's gaze squarely, breathing hard, and shook his head slightly.

No chance.

"He's gone, Russell."

"Let go!" Russell was sucking down deep breaths, he'd probably been winded by the tackle. "Damn you, help me!"

"Listen to me!" Russell's head was craned up, staring at his brother, and Edward was glad he couldn't see the man's eyes. "Listen to me," he repeated, in a slightly kinder voice. "There's nothing we can do."

Russell gave another heave, then collapsed a little against the floor, and Ed loosened his hold marginally. "There's nothing we can do."

" . . . get off me." It was a little calmer, but not much. "You don't want to help, that's fine. Just get the fuck off me!"

Al had scooted forward again, still cradling his left arm, and looked on helplessly. "Russell, it's too late." His voice was positively gentle, and Ed could feel a tremor pass through Russ's frame. "You'd die."

The man turned his face away from them, laying it on the floor for a moment as he shifted. Edward tightened his hold again, and Russell stilled.

"No one can bring back the dead," he told the man softly. Russ just clenched his jaw, twisting in Ed's grasp.

"He's cold," Al tried again. "His soul has already passed through the Gate. There's no way to call it back." Alphonse looked again at Fletcher, swallowing hard. "And even if you could, think of the damage to his body alone. Think of the damage to his brain. It can't be repaired, not even by us, not without a Philosopher's Stone."

Beneath him, Russell gave another, less emphatic tug.

"And even if you survived to see the result . . . it wouldn't be him."

Footsteps sounded behind them, increasing in volume. "Edward Elric, I will chain you to that be . . ." The voice was masculine, and he heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

Doc.

Ed gave Russell a gentle squeeze, and then released his arm, leaning his weight off the other man.

Alphonse's eyes widened slightly, then dropped to the ground as Russell scrambled to his feet. Ed heard Patterson start forward, and he extended the armored arm, blocking his way.

Russell had heard them. If he chose not to listen, that was his choice. He was a talented alchemist; if he survived, they would do everything they could to save his life. It was all they could do.

Patterson almost collided with the armor before he could stop himself. "Russell!"

Tringum had covered the distance in less than a breath, his hands only hesitating for a fraction of a second before they touched his little brother. His entire body flinched, but there was no flash of light. No transmutation.

Just understanding. His fingers told him what he refused to believe from his eyes. Russell had seen enough death. Touched enough.

He started to shake, but his hands were still remarkably steady, so gentle as he touched his brother's chest, his face. He opened his mouth but said nothing, closed it again. He reached out with his right hand to stroke Fletcher's cheek, his thumb running over his cheekbone before withdrawing, and Russell rubbed it thoughtfully against his forefinger.

"He was crying," he announced into the silence. When he brought his hands together, it wasn't so much a clap as a touch, and Edward had to hold himself back. Kept his arm out, even as Patterson tried to push past him.

"Dammit, Ed, he's going t-"

Al jerked, too, but didn't stop him as Russell laid his hands again on his brother's body.

The flash of the transmutation was very brief, and when it was gone Russell was still there, just as he had been. Fletcher's body appeared unchanged, and Edward blinked, so shocked he didn't even notice when Patterson successfully circumvented him.

How . . .?

Russell swallowed hard, his fingers suddenly curling into his brother's shirt. "There's nothing wrong," he croaked, staring at his brother's face. "There's nothing wrong with him."

Patterson made no move to try to push Russell away, he just knelt on Fletcher's other side, reaching out for the younger Tringum's throat. The second his fingertips brushed skin, however, his expression changed from urgent to something else, something Edward had never seen on the doctor's face. He withdrew his hand slowly, staring at the body critically.

Russell looked up at him, as if seeking some sort of answer, and Patterson met his gaze with eyes full of sympathy.

"I'm so very sorry, Russell."

Russell's throat bobbed for a moment, and then his eyes filled. He looked back down at his brother, and his hands began to shake.

"You said you were fine," he whispered hoarsely, gripping his brother's shirt even tighter. "You told me you were fine. Why did I let you go?"

Patterson put a hand on Russ's shoulder, his expression flicking from sympathetic to concerned in an instant. "Russell, you're bleeding."

Ed blinked. Doc was right; there was a tear in Russ's shirt, just under his right arm, and the fabric was stained red. He'd clipped him harder than he thought.

"I did that," he admitted quietly, moving to help Al. "Might've gotten a rib, too. I'm sorry."

Patterson just nodded, eyeing both him and Al up and down. His gaze lingered on Al's shoulder, still being cradled through the sling, and then he looked back at Russell.

"Come on," he said coaxingly, tugging gently on his shoulder. Russell immediately resisted, his arm flying out to swipe the doctor's hand from his shoulder.

"I'm staying," he growled in a thick voice. "I looked, but I can't find anything wrong. I-I don't know-"

Patterson didn't try to touch him again. "I need to examine him now, and I can't do that here."

"But there's nothing wrong with him!" His voice was rising in pitch. "You don't understand, I've looked, his organs are fine-"

"I swear to you, I will find out what happened." Edward had never heard Patterson so serious. "I will tell you as soon as I know. But right now I need you to come with me. You need stitches, Russell."

He balked, but he released his brother's shirt. The fabric remained bunched, molded by his fingers.

"No . . ." His voice was pleading.

"You're bleeding heavily. You need to be treated." It was a bit of an overstatement; the stain was spreading nicely but certainly not alarmingly. "Edward, would you please help Alphonse back to bed?"

For once, his not-quite-forceful tone seemed to be enough, because Ed found himself moving towards the door without really meaning to do so. Russell's transmutation had to have been something small, like moving the iron in Fletcher's blood. Something that gave him a picture of what Fletcher looked like on the inside. If he was fine-

But obviously he wasn't. Hadn't been.

"Thank you," he heard Patterson say, and he glanced back to find that Russell hadn't moved, and neither had the doctor. "We'll be along in just a moment."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I'd apologize for the long delay, but I warned everyone ahead of time that this one was not going to be updated quite so quickly. Pre-emptive disclaiming good! Getting slammed at work bad.

Regarding the previous Author's Notes – please don't get the wrong idea! I wasn't fishing for feedback! I just wanted to make sure that you guys feel comfortable giving me the good with the bad, because god knows I will kill a story with sheer amounts of plot if given half a chance. It's absolutely appropriate to let an author know what works and what doesn't, and such information is very helpful! I will never get offended with comments left unless they are quite obviously flames, and I've yet to be flamed . . . well, ever, regarding a fic. Messageboards, now, that's another animal altogether . . . ; )

(And while I wasn't fishing, thank you guys so much!! There was lots of happy squeeing.)

So, Krows Scared, thank you for the comments about plot-heaviness. I guess I didn't do a good job of improving on that this chapter, did I. \ And Should Be Sleeping, don't hurt yourself feedbacking!! Is your hand okay??

I know I said things would start moving, but I sort of had a little change of plot. If I post the notes for this fic at the end, as I did with the first, you'll see what it was then. Trust me when I say almost every word of this chapter was necessary. And it seems you're all holding out for a magical plot twist to save Fletcher . . . :whistles innocently: I guess I should get to writing, then!

**On Content Warnings**: As a rule, I only give two kinds – explicit sexual content warnings and tearjerk warnings. Some people aren't old enough to read this stuff, and some people prefer not to suddenly burst into tears in the middle of the public library, internet café, etc. I do not give any other types of content warnings – I feel it acts as a spoiler for the fic.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning:** Mild tearjerk warning.

- x -

The MP outside the room was her first indication that she'd found the right place.

Though honestly, the fact that he didn't have the door open was rather stupid. If she recalled correctly from the last time Edward was in this particular ward, there was a very large maple tree outside the windows on that side of the building, and as he'd demonstrated even as a boy, wood and plaster could be transmuted into just about anything.

Surely Patterson had already thought of that? It really wasn't like the doctor to use soldiers to keep his patients in line, and Ed was bound to protest.

Which meant-

Which meant the lead-headed lout had gotten himself into trouble with the military.

Again.

Winry Rockbell swallowed back her sigh, instead arranging a somewhat vapid smile on her face and approaching the unamused-looking soldier. "Excuse me, sir, but is this Edward Elric's room?"

Only his eyes moved; they took her in from head to toe, and while he never made an inappropriate comment or expression, she still had the urge to clobber him. "I'm afraid this room is off-limits to visitors."

Oh, it brought back such memories . . . "I'm not a visitor," she declared airily. "Please step aside."

Unlike the young doctor had once been, this MP was completely unfazed. "Are you a military officer?"

Oh yes. Definitely trouble with the military. Maybe it had to do with that court martial they'd been threatening him with since he got back. "I'm the Full Metal Alchemist's mechanic. I understand he was in a bit of a –"

The enlisted didn't even wait for her to finish. He smartly stepped aside.

Slightly surprised, Winry let her words trail off. She was dying to know what changed his mind, but she knew damn well asking would be pushing her luck, so she just gave him a little nod, which even more weirdly, he returned, and opened the door slightly.

The first thing she could see through the crack in the door was a blonde man with a blue hospital gown draped over his shoulders, using his slinged-up left arm to toy idly with heavy bandaging on his right. There was far too much facial hair for it to be Edward.

Both of them? Both of them were in the hospital?

Winry gave a gentle knock, pushing further into the room. On the far bed was the silhouette she was looking for – her armor looked more or less intact. The leg was folded with his real one, and his 'automail' arm was resting on his knee while his uncovered hand was picking at the hem of the sheet. He too was wearing a hospital gown, and the look on his face when he glanced up-

Confused, she turned back to Al. Sling, check. Bandaging, check. Bruises, check. He'd obviously gotten roughed up, but he certainly wasn't at death's door, so why-

"Come in," a female voice called from inside, and Winry glanced into the back corner of the room, previously hidden by the door.

There was a third blonde in the room, bare from the waist up, getting the finishing touches on bandages of his own by a dark-haired nurse. She looked very kind, and smiled sadly, and Winry gave her an uncertain smile in return before turning back to Edward.

The previous expression on his face was gone, replaced now by open concern. "Winry?"

"I heard you were here, Ed, but I didn't think you'd dragged Al and Russ down with you," she tried, a little lamely. Al's current body language, even as an adult human, reminded her so strongly of the armor it almost hurt. He looked exactly like he had when he'd been left out on the roof of the hospital, thinking that Ed didn't love him, or that he wasn't a real human.

He looked sad. Unfixably, unbearably sad.

Russell Tringum, sitting on a stool in the far corner, wasn't even looking up enough for her to see his face at all. Just his bangs. He hadn't moved a muscle, not even as the gauze was wound around what was apparently a broken rib or two.

The door clicked shut behind her, and while further inspection of the room revealed another MP, who was stationed just behind the door, there was no fourth blonde.

"Winry, what are you doing here?"

She turned back to Ed, trying for a grin. Judging by a slight change in his eyes, she didn't pull it off that well. What could have gotten the military so wound up that an MP was stationed both inside and outside the room? Had there been an accident? Had they witnessed something . . .?

The radios had said there was another assassination attempt, but they said it wasn't successful. Was this why . . . ? Were the soldiers there to provide protection or detention?

"I didn't think it was possible to find someone more caustic than you, Edward, but you certainly pulled it off. Dr. Ackernath confirmed my diagnosis, and managed to talk Granny into coming here." She suddenly had the urge to keep her voice down, and she twisted her fingers behind her so she didn't give away her shaking hands. The MP could see, but to hell with him. She'd never see him again. "However did you find someone so charming?"

"One of Patterson's old professors," he said quickly. "So, she really broke her hip . . . ?"

Winry kept the grin with effort. "More or less." There was no way she could tell them the truth, not now. Though Russ was in the room-

No. That news – and seeing if Russ and Fletch would help - could wait until they'd dealt with whatever had happened.

Obviously something else terrible.

"Are you going to tell me about it?" She headed for Edward, mainly for something to do with her hands. If the Elrics had been together and Al had gotten that beat up, Ed'd probably been using the armor like his old automail, and it wouldn't stand up to that kind of treatment.

Also, and she could admit it now, it was her crutch. And she damn well needed it. Looked like he did too.

Ed performed his version of a flinch, dropping his gaze to the right in a mannerism he'd used even as a little boy when he felt guilty. When he was hurt. And he was in the hospital, he was obviously hurt, but –

Without answering her, he uncurled his legs, and the armor extended with an odd sort of chucking sound. It still moved fluidly, but it was obviously out of adjustment. She glanced down at it a moment, then back at Edward. When he remained silent, she turned to the side, looking to Al.

Alphonse met her eyes hesitantly. "Winry . . ."

"Fletcher's dead." There was almost no emotion in Ed's voice. The figure on the stool remained absolutely still.

Winry didn't realize she'd covered her mouth until she felt her own hand shaking against her lips. "What? W-when? How?"

In the corner, she heard the nurse start talking. It was very quiet, and she couldn't make out the words, but the tone was compassionate. The elder Tringum didn't so much as twitch. He remained rigidly slumped, and he did not speak. It was like he didn't even know she was there.

"Some time this morning. Patterson thinks it was heart failure." Al's voice was soft. "We found him about half an hour ago."

. . . they found him?

She dropped her hand from her face, putting it on Ed's metal knee, and somewhere behind her, the doorhandle creaked.

- x -

This was going to be harder on him than he anticipated.

She couldn't help the thought as it flitted by, watching him stare at Tringum's face. It was obvious the autopsy hadn't even been started yet; Fletcher Tringum's exposed chest was intact, and sightless, frosted eyes reflected the overhead lights dully. Mustang studied the ghost of his expression for a long time.

"What have you found?" Roy's voice had recovered from the damage all those months ago, and was quiet and smooth. As if he wasn't really standing there, staring down so detachedly at a dead friend. While he and Fletcher Tringum had never been as close as Roy was to his unit or subordinates, the young man was a brilliant alchemist with a large heart. He had been pivotal in stopping Dante and the homunculi, in tandem with his brother Russell, and nearly a year ago he'd risked his life to save the life of Alphonse Elric. Five months later he'd repeated the act.

In fact, she was more than a little surprised that the aide hadn't pulled them out of Parliament with the news of the death of a civilian alchemist, and the disappearance of three of his own.

Who was she kidding. Roy counted Fletcher Tringum among his own, State certification or no. It was a truly unfortunate coincidence that the three to find Fletcher should have been the Elrics and his own elder brother. And even more unfortunate that even they could do nothing.

Dr. Patterson didn't beat around the bush. "My findings are still preliminary, of course." He gestured at the body. "Cause of death was likely heart failure. Note the discoloration of his lips and mucous membranes. It was very quick, onset would have been sudden and consciousness thereafter only thirty seconds at most. He might not have even known what hit him."

No. Given what was left of his final expression, he knew damn well what had hit him.

"Staff he was in contact with prior to his death reported him as looking a bit tired, but otherwise healthy. As to what caused the heart failure . . . I'll know more after the autopsy is completed."

"Do you have any theories?"

Riza Hawkeye watched Mustang turn to the doctor, not at all liking his grim look.

"This is the second previously healthy alchemist I've been presented with these symptoms. The first was Bren Durrell."

Bren Durrell . . . The Flint Alchemist. The man that had died attempting to decompose Johann Irving's amplifier through alchemy.

Which meant Patterson thought it was related to the feedback. To the fact that Fletcher Tringum had been exposed to the same amplifier.

"Was there evidence he was transmuting just before he died?" Obviously Roy was thinking along the same lines.

Riza shifted slightly in her position by the wall, a few feet behind both the Prime Minister and the physician. She had an excellent vantage of the entire morgue, its rows of gleaming metal tables and human-sized cabinets. The other examination tables were unoccupied, though there were two gurneys at the far end, and she'd already checked under the sheets to ensure that they were indeed dead bodies, and not assassins. As it turned out, they were both; two of the men they'd killed last night. Autopsies had been ordered to determine if they were carrying any pathogens that might have been made aerosol by the grenade. They had already been performed, and obviously not by Patterson.

She glanced back as the young doctor shook his head. "No. I've been through the apothecary with a fine-tooth comb, but everything's in place. However, I do know he was scheduled for and worked a cleanup shift this morning."

The implication being that now they had to worry not only about over-exerting the alchemists exposed to Johann Irving's amplifier on the spot, but that accrued exertion could also kill them over a longer period of time.

"When do you think you'll complete the autopsy?"

Pattterson uncharacteristically sighed. "I'm a bit more worried about my living patients," he admitted outright. "But I'll remain here this evening until it's finished."

Riza watched Mustang accept that announcement with a nod, giving Fletcher Tringum a last, long look before turning on his heels. "And how are your more fortunate patients?"

The doctor, too, lingered near the body for a moment before respectfully pulling up the blue sheet, covering Fletcher's chest and face. "All of them will recover. How much do you know?"

Mustang glanced to his left, to her. As one, the three of them began walking towards the door.

"Almost nothing. The Elrics were involved in some sort of incident involving the local police."

Specifically, the Elrics had gone to investigate a lead on Franklin Sorn. She knew from Alphonse's last report that Edward had started looking into Franklin on his own, which was how Al had located him after the explosion outside the prison. Since then, Alphonse had left and obviously returned from his trip to Sorn's hometown. The earliest he could have done so was this morning.

Which meant one of them had found something worth looking into. The question was what. Whether it had to do with Franklin, or possibly another alchemist that was involved in his disappearance.

"Then you know as much as I do. There was a . . . trap, Edward said, set up by an alchemist."

She didn't even glance; she knew Mustang would have kept his face impassive.

"A serious fall was involved, in any case. Edward came out of it in better condition, thanks to the armor," Patterson continued. "They both have concussions, and Alphonse's left shoulder was dislocated. That injury was then exacerbated in the struggle. And he ripped out his IV," Patterson said as an afterthought. "But none are permanent injuries. He looks worse than he really is."

Colonel Hawkeye glanced at the doctor. "Struggle?" If an IV had been involved, it meant the struggle had been at the hospital -

If someone had attacked them, she would have heard about it by now. So it was struggle among them . . . had one of them attempted it? Tried to bring Fletcher back?

The doctor grimaced. "Yes, about that. I'd like to ask a favor on the subject."

Roy used his neutral voice when he answered. "Name it."

"I came upon . . . a situation I might have misconstrued. Edward Elric had restrained Russell Tringum from approaching the body, but released him moments after I entered the room. He performed . . . alchemy of some kind. Obviously not human transmutation," he added hurriedly, as Mustang raised an eyebrow. "But given all three of their histories regarding the subject, as well as actions they took last year, I don't believe it would be wise to discharge Russell Tringum without supervision. At least for a few days."

Performed alchemy on the body . . . ? But if not an attempted resurrection, what on earth would Russell have been doing?

"Of course. Colonel, please see to it."

She merely inclined her head. Russell was familiar enough with their unit that a soldier stationed just outside wouldn't be too much of an intrusion. Then again, she supposed if Russell had all the ingredients necessary to construct an adult human body in his home, he might not actually need Fletcher's physical remains to attempt a resurrection. He wouldn't have to set foot outside, and any sentries posted would have no idea.

Which meant they needed to use someone who could gain entry without upsetting Russell any more than such a requirement already would.

"I'll assign First Lieutenant Ross immediately." Maria had been one of the officers that had freed the Tringums during their incarceration and ordered execution by Pride. Perhaps that would give her an in with Russell she wasn't finding with the Drachmans.

Not that anyone was succeeding where she had failed. The Drachman 'diplomats' were still spitting mad that they were being essentially held against their will in the Amestrian capitol, and Parliament was still debating what to do with them. Mustang had left them unsupervised in the midst of deliberating, and she was certain they'd still be at it when they returned. Not that they were totally being left to their own devices; she'd left Breda to babysit, knowing Hakuro wouldn't hesitate to make a move, thinking the major was still at least temporarily in his pocket.

Mustang grunted an approval, and they proceeded out the double swinging doors. Once they left the morgue, it was a short trip back to the elevator, which Goodman had secured. It really was impossible to trust him now, despite the fact he hadn't been the one to kill their only remaining prisoner. He worked too closely with Brooks. If one of them was truly an enemy, they were both a threat.

So, it had seemed the smartest thing to do would be to give Goodman the impression he was trusted, and permit him to see the Prime Minister in a vulnerable position. Not that Roy really was; it would take days before Fletcher Tringum's death really hit Mustang. He'd gone through several phases of distancing himself from his emotions after Maes, and then Edward Elric, had been removed from his life. In some ways, he still had never recovered, despite the relatively happy ending that was the Elrics.

Even now, as they waited for the lift to arrive on the second floor, he merely stared at the semi-reflective metal doors. His hands were relaxed at his sides, yet slightly curled. It had been a long time since she'd seen it; his time up north after Full Metal's disappearance had broken that habit. It was the Flame Alchemist's version of parade rest. Ready to arm himself in an instant. Even in his most drunken and relaxed moments in Ishbal, even when he was asleep, his hands had always looked like that.

She'd have to keep an eye on that, and determine if it was because of the nearly successful assassination attempt, or his desire to protect his own. Either way, she doubted he was aware of it.

The elevator ride to the second floor was uneventful, and they stepped out into a very sober hallway. There were two nurses at the station, both downcast despite a visit from their Prime Minister, and he murmured words of comfort he probably forgot by the time he was halfway to the Elrics' room.

"I put all three of them in Alphonse's room," Patterson was saying, in a quieter voice. "They're being supervised by several MPs."

That was readily obvious; an enlisted was stationed by the door, already saluting.

"They won't be necessary." Unfortunate, that Alphonse was in the room as well. They'd have to separate him, assuming Alphonse hadn't disobeyed them and filled his brother in on his assignment. Not that it was really relevant, at this point; Ed had endangered himself all on his own. Bringing him in now was unlikely to do anything more harmful to him than irritating Hakuro.

Though, given the upcoming court-marshal and the aggressiveness with which Hakuro had communicated Full Metal's new status, she supposed it would be a more serious hindrance than usual.

Patterson paused, hand on the doorknob, and turned surprisingly pleading eyes towards Mustang. "Please treat them gently, Minister." It was quiet enough that anyone standing just on the other side of the door would not have heard the request. "They've all had a bad day."

Mustang gave the doctor a curt nod, and Patterson pushed open the door.

- x -

He was tempted to put his hand over hers, just to make it stop shaking, but was immediately glad he hadn't when she tried to jump out of her skin.

Al's room had been a revolving door of people since they found Fletcher, and it was no surprise that Doc was followed this time by none other than Roy Mustang, the Prime Minister himself. He surveyed the room with one sweep of his dark, serious eye, and then proceeded without delay to Russell's corner. The nurse politely excused herself, making more room by vacating, and was just able to squeeze past Colonel Hawkeye.

Riza caught and met his eyes steadily, and Ed found it was exceedingly difficult to follow suit. He only did it for a second before looking back towards Winry.

"We'll come check in with Aunt Pinako soon," he promised, listening to his voice echo hollowly around the room. Mustang was standing beside Russ, but facing the window, and he'd laid his hand on Russ's right shoulder. He was talking, but Ed's own words had drowned out the soft voice. Whatever Roy was saying, it was for Russell and Russell alone.

Winry, too, was staring at the pair of them, eyes brimming with tears. She'd never been good at keeping them in, and he knew how close she and Fletcher had gotten, almost a year ago, working on a way to help Alphonse. They'd stayed in constant communication since then, probably because Winry had some mutant gene that allowed her to write meaningful letters apparently in her sleep.

He should have told her more gently.

"Yeah, do that," she replied, patting his knee again. She withdrew suddenly, her long blonde hair whipping around her shoulders as she turned towards Al, and despite the fact that he was wrapped up almost from head to toe she leaned in for a one-armed hug. Al squeezed her tightly, and then she was gone.

Ed exchanged a look with Al, then turned towards the Prime Minister.

Mustang was where he'd left him, still facing the window, still with a hand on Russ's shoulder. Tringum hadn't moved at all, hadn't said a word since Patterson had brought him back in. Hadn't flinched during the examination, the stitches, or the wrapping up of his busted ribs. Hadn't done anything.

Ed would eat the armor if Russ had even noticed the physical pain at all.

"What happened?"

Silence.

It wasn't his place to say. Honestly, he wasn't even sure. Wasn't sure why Russ had been so concerned about Fletcher's whereabouts to begin with. He said –

Edward closed his eyes, letting his face fall further towards the sheets. He'd said to the corpse that Fletcher had told him he was fine. Which meant Russell had asked him. Something must have caused Russell to ask him.

And something must have caused Fletcher, a perfectly healthy twenty year old, to have his heart fail.

He wasn't sure, but he had an idea.

One he wasn't going to voice. Not now.

It wasn't his turn.

Al felt the same way, obviously; he also said nothing, and they let the silence stretch on for what seemed like forever. Eventually Mustang inhaled, in preparation to speak again, but he was interrupted.

"Fletcher worked the early shift on grid thirty-two. I relieved him. He looked tired, I offered to take him to the library before I started work. He declined. He was supposed to go to the academy afterwards." Russell's voice was eerily calm. "Instead, he came here, and asked for Patterson. A nurse pointed him towards the apothecary. That's the last time anyone saw h-him alive."

Outside of one little stumble, it was delivered completely deadpan.

"Did you see him this morning, doctor?"

Patterson made a slightly startled noise. "I'm afraid not. I was in the apothecary this morning, but I left to care for Chamber Speaker Durnd a little after eight am. The nurses were in the middle of a shift meeting, which means it's likely they never noticed me leave. They did send him on to the place they thought I'd be."

Edward almost smiled. Trust Doc to make sure no blame would fall on his nurses.

"Had he been behaving differently in the past week?"

Ed hadn't really seen him, and couldn't say. If Al had noticed anything weird with Fletcher on the phone, he didn't offer it up. Russell eventually decided the question had been directed at him, and Ed heard his hair shift as he shook his head. "No. He seemed fine. Just tired." His voice was shaking slightly. "I wouldn't have let him go if I'd thought-"

"I know." Mustang remained silent, apparently in thought, and Ed didn't dare look up. Did he know . . . ? Did he know what had almost happened?

Because he didn't need to ask. It had crossed Al's mind, just like it had crossed his. If Fletch had still been warm, they would have tried it. There were so many ingredients in the apothecary, and with three of them-

But no. Just because they knew how to deal with the Gate now didn't mean it wouldn't up the price in retaliation. No one could bring back the dead. Once he'd seen the man was truly gone, Alphonse had done nothing. He'd done nothing.

What had Russell been thinking? He'd prepared a transmutation, but could they be absolutely sure it wasn't the transmutation he'd used? Was Mustang going to trust them? Could he?

"Dr. Patterson, please discharge Fullmetal. Edward, escort Russell home."

He wasn't sure if that constituted trust or insanity.

"Minister-" Patterson's voice was edging towards one of his strongest protest tones.

"He looks well." Mustang turned, and Edward clearly heard him pat Russell's shoulder, once. He also clearly heard the hitch in Russ's breathing.

After a beat, Edward raised his face, and saw that Mustang was giving him an inscrutable look.

Trust . . . ? Or an opportunity? He had to know Russ was thinking about it, because the heavens knew he would have been, if it was Al lying there, just as he'd thought it when he'd originally seen the amplifier in Craege Irving's belt -

"Yes, Edward has a habit of doing that," Patterson muttered. "He has a concussion, and I had meant to keep him for observation-"

"Is it absolutely necessary?" Ed was faintly surprised to hear what a casual onlooker might have assumed was the tiniest hint of worry in Mustang's voice. As if he wouldn't insist if Patterson told him it was.

But he would insist. He had to. It was either him or Al, and Al was in worse shape. Al really did need to stay in the hospital, at least overnight. He'd dealt with concussions before. He knew he'd be fine. It wasn't like either he or Russ was going to get a wink of sleep tonight anyway.

"It's fine," he said tonelessly, before Patterson could object. "It would be my honor."

Assuming Russ ever forgave him.

Patterson eventually relented, as they all knew he would. "Very well." It was stiff and obviously unhappy. "May I at least send staff to the residence to check up on them?" On to compromise. Equivalent exchange. He was dealing with a room full of alchemists, and Patterson well knew that Mustang would give him that.

That was fine, actually. All the better to have someone else in the house to force Russell to function. To realize the world hadn't stopped.

Even if his had.

"Of course." Mustang looked back at him, and Ed arranged his expression into something neutral. Was he really not going to ask about the trap . . . ? About Sorn?

"If you're ready, Edward, Russell?"

Of course. He was going to get it out of Al. But they were getting along fine, it wasn't like he had to worry. In fact, Al had been on the phone with Mustang the night he'd discovered the mining of the Incomplete Stone at Lab Five -

Son of a bitch.

They were up to something. Together.

Edward nodded, standing up and taking special care to make the gesture effortless. Patterson was barely able to hold himself still, and Ed could see the wheels turning. The less he worried Doc at this point, the better. Still . . . "The MPs said you had an interesting time last night." He kept his voice conversational.

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You hadn't heard?"

"No. I was holed up in Sorn's library." He stared at Roy steadily. "Funny Hakuro didn't mention it to me, though, when he dropped by."

In fact, Hakuro had to have known about the attack on Mustang and left that investigation to catch him at Sorn's place. Which would mean the general thought the two were equally important. Roy's gaze didn't even flicker, and in the corner by the door, Hawkeye was still.

So they weren't going to tell him.

Did they think Sorn's disappearance and the assassination attempts were related?

But that was asinine. How could Sorn be tied up both with Incomplete Stone and assassinating Roy Mustang? How did the two relate? If he wanted a Philosopher's Stone, and he truly had been mining the red substance for weeks, all Franklin really had to do now was knock off a couple dozen people, according to Lust and Envy. He didn't need Mustang out of the way to accomplish that. And no one actually needed a Philosopher's Stone to kill Mustang – a bullet would do. Still, he was more likely to aggressively try to track one down than Parliament as a whole.

After a moment, a slightly sharp look crossed Mustang's face. "That shouldn't be surprising at all, Fullmetal," he drawled. "I'm certain you were as forthcoming with him."

You bastard. You're really not going to tell me.

Ed's eyes narrowed slightly, but strangely, it was Russell who spoke next.

"What is it you all want to discuss so badly?"

Ed glanced back over at the Winding Tree Alchemist, surprised to see that he'd uncurled himself, and was even getting to his feet. Then again, hadn't Roy just told them both to scram?

"If it has to do with the investigations, I get it." His voice was still steady, still emotionless. "Just tell me one thing. Tell me why you called my brother yesterday, Al."

. . . why would Russell even think . . . ?

Alphonse, who had been staring at his feet, blinked in surprise, and met Russ's eyes squarely. "Ah, I was out of town, and I needed some info from an old State Alchemist's record. Ed was tied up, so I rang your place. I . . . was supposed to take a couple hours' worth of his cleanup in exchange for his legwork."

Edward kept his face impassive. It sounded quite innocent, but Ed knew damn well where Al had gone 'out of town.' He'd peripherally involved Fletcher in the search for Franklin Sorn. Not it really mattered at this point. It wasn't like heart failure was a symptom of an . . . argument . . .

Patterson had said that he didn't think Fletch had been transmuting before he died, but what if he had? What if he'd actually been fighting, and the evidence was already gone . . .? The apothecary door was so thick they could have been screaming at one another and no one would have heard them.

But that didn't make any sense either. What the hell would Sorn have been doing in the apothecary? And how would he have known that was where Fletcher would go? Surely the nurses would have seen him. Hell, half the military had to be searching for the kid by now.

Unless he'd gone to the hospital because he knew that was where he and Al would've been taken? And Fletcher just surprised him? An alchemic fight, followed by Fletch's heart attack-

It was all speculation at this point. And Ed doubted Russ would make the connection. The phrasing was slick. He'd seriously underestimated his brother's ability to fib.

"Speaking of which," Patterson cut in politely, "I don't want any of you performing alchemy until further notice. No cleanup shifts, no demonstrations in class. No private research, either," he added, trying to catch Russell's eyes. "I know you'll want to get your mind off things, but until I know what happened to your brother, it's too risky."

Russell's expression didn't change. He stood there a moment, staring first at the doctor, then at Mustang. Ed expected a protest, but Russ chose not to say anything, he simply started walking. Edward gave Roy another hard look, which he returned blandly, and then followed Tringum to the door.

No transmuting. Patterson was thinking along the same lines he was.

They all were.

Fletcher hadn't died from heart failure. He'd died from feedback. He'd died because he used that damned amplifier. Because he'd knocked himself out that morning, pushed it too hard, and none of them were talking about the pain in their chests because they all knew what it meant-

Maybe he hadn't even had to fight anyone. Maybe he'd simply felt ill and gone to find Patterson. Maybe this was the fate of all alchemists who'd used the amplifier, and it was only a matter of time.

He heard nothing as the door closed, and the MP gave them both a sharp salute. Neither returned it; Ed figured he was a civilian, and Russ probably hadn't noticed. His eyes were moving, shifting, but there was no doubt he wasn't seeing the hallway. Ed could only guess what was going on in his mind.

"Sorry, gotta make a quick stop," he said lightly, opening the door just past Al's. It was his original room, one he'd woken in only a little over an hour ago.

It seemed like days.

Russ stopped, but didn't enter, and Ed left the door open as he yanked his pants on under the blue hospital gown. In no time he was back in his regular clothes, and they were on their way again. No one stopped them as they crossed the lobby, and two enlisted actually escorted them to the parking lot, keeping three or four sharp-eared reporters from getting too close.

He'd have to write them a letter of appreciation when he was reinstated. The last thing Tringum needed right now was a bulb flash in his face.

He let Russell lead; he wasn't sure where the man's car was, and he didn't have the keys. Russ slid into the driver's seat, and Ed held his tongue. The alchemist was moving on automatic. He responded to traffic signals and other vehicles, but only with a sliver of his attention, and the silence was stifling. When they finally arrived at the Tringums' new home, Ed couldn't wait to get out of the car. It felt like he couldn't breathe.

But he said nothing. He knew damn well that there was nothing he could say. There were no magic words that would make this go away, and if he'd lost – if he lost – Al that way, he would want some time to think about it. Some time without sympathy and empty words and helpless actions.

Russell unlocked the door and opened it, and Ed watched him toss his keys into a glass plate on the hutch by the door. He stared around the house for a moment, then walked purposefully towards his lab.

Toward his work.

Exactly what Patterson had told them not to do.

Ed let him go.

Instead, he went into the kitchen, taking stock of what was there before putting a kettle on the stove to boil. He knew damn well Russ wouldn't eat tonight, and probably not the day after, but there was going to be a slew of people in and out of this house before all was said and done. Fletcher was immensely popular with the alchemists and people of Central alike. He'd helped so many, and for the Winding Tree Alchemist to lose his younger brother so suddenly . . . it was going to be a circus.

Someone needed to act as ringmaster. And that someone also needed to be able to recognize when Russ was going too far. There was a reason Mustang chose him.

Though he doubted it was because Roy knew he was a good cook.

In theory, all alchemists should have been. Alchemy was born in the kitchen, after all. And he was a genius with alchemic ingredients. They just weren't quite the same as edible ones. He'd had to cook for himself since he was eight, but that didn't mean he was any good at it. He made what he'd eat and he ate it. It hadn't been until he'd gone to Earth the first time that he'd really worried about feeding anyone else, and the second trip, with Al in a human body, made him realize that there was a big difference between 'palatable' and 'delicious.' And that while technically the same nutrients were going down his throat, preparing food properly and tastily did indeed have an effect on how much he enjoyed the food and how he felt after he'd consumed it.

Once he'd made that realization, food preparation had progressed markedly.

After forty-five minutes of single-minded and surprisingly calming focus, there was a pie and a casserole in the oven, and he cleaned up the counters, making a list of things he'd need to get someone to pick up. He was absolutely positive that Mustang would assign someone to the house besides him, someone to more permanently keep an eye on Russ, at least until they were certain he'd accepted Fletcher's death. He could probably con that person into picking things up for them.

He really hoped it ended up being a soldier Russ knew. Brosh and Ross came immediately to mind, and he knew they'd come to Hawkeye's. She was good that way, too; surprisingly thoughtful when it came to those kinds of things. Probably another reason she still put up with Mustang.

Ed wandered to the front of the house, peeking out the window, but he didn't see anyone there. No reporters, which was a miracle, but no one keeping an eye out, either. The silence was a little unnerving, and he frowned at the late afternoon sun for a few moments before a crash in the lab attracted his attention.

He let it go until it repeated.

The lab looked pretty much like it usually did, flasks and assorted plants and orderly shelves of journals containing notes. Russell was sitting on his stool, head in his hands, suspenders hanging off the sides of his trousers. He hadn't put them back up when they'd left the hospital, Ed recalled, and he wondered how much longer Patterson's wonderdrugs were going to effectively mask the pain.

For either of them. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow, and he didn't want to even think about Al's shoulder. Hopefully Patterson would think to contact one of the non-certified healing alchemists. They didn't do nearly as good a job as Fletch and Russ did, but really, healing had been Fletcher's forte. Without him, he wasn't sure Russ would ever perform their dual reactions solo.

Russell didn't move, and Ed leaned on the doorframe, eyeing the floor. There were a couple journals lying there, their pages now bent and wrinkled, and he resisted the urge to pick one up. Resisted the urge to look. It was easier to just assume rather than to see for himself what a genius like Russell Tringum could come up with in the few hours he'd had.

"You can leave now."

It was far more of an acknowledgement than he'd expected, and he sighed soundlessly. "Not yet."

Russ left his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on the bench. His back was to Ed, and it was slumped. "I said get out."

"Can't. Prime Minister's orders. Besides, I've got dinner cooking."

Russ sucked in a breath, but he didn't speak, and the seconds ticked by. Finally, "You really think I would've?"

"I know I would have."

Russell's hands shifted marginally. "You don't know it can't be done."

"Yeah, I do."

"You were TEN FUCKING YEARS OLD!" Suddenly Russ was on his feet, and Edward found he'd already leapt off the doorframe, already prepared for an incoming ball of fury that hadn't charged him, not yet. Russell was shaking, and his face –

No tears. Not yet.

"I was," Ed agreed, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice. "But that doesn't change anything-"

"You said it yourself, Al's body was _in_ the Gate! Rose said it took you almost ten minutes to wake up, and longer to get her out of that church!"

"Al had a Philosopher's Stone, still in his possession, in the Gate." He wasn't good at gentle, not with Winry, not with Russell. "That's the only reason it worked. No one can -"

"YOU DID! YOU BOTH DID!"

"Did we?!" He couldn't help but raise his voice, and he found his hands were clenched at his sides. "Look around, Russ! Do you see our mom anywhere?!" He took a step forward. "Don't you think I would've done it if I could?! Don't you think Al would've?"

Russ was shaking his head, trembling from head to foot. "God dammit, after everything he did for you-"

"He would _hate me_ if I let you kill yourself trying to bring him back! I don't know that Al's forgiven me _yet_!"

"His soul has to be intact until it's used! On the other side! You argued it yourself, their souls translate to our alchemic energy-"

And he and Al had once postulated that their souls had something to do with the Earth electrons being able to exist both as particles and waves.

"It's not the souls themselves! It's the energy that's released when the bond is broken, Russell! His soul has entered the Gate. It's gone. We can't summon it back, not you, not me, no matter what we trade. The beings in the Gate don't have it anymore!"

"You can't know that!"

"Did he have a Stone on him when he died, Russ? Did he have an amplifier? His body is here!" He cut the air with a swift wave of his hand. "He had nothing to pay with!"

Russell glared at him, anger radiating off him much like brooding silence had earlier, and Edward matched the look.

"You were a child." The words were ground out. "You even admit you didn't know what the hell you were doing. There's a chance, dammit, and the longer we wait-"

"There's no chance." He dropped his eyes to the floor, to Russell's feet. It would be enough of a clue that the taller man was going to take a swing at him. "There was time, but it was this morning. It was when he died. If we go to the Gate now, and look for him, you're going to sacrifice something and gain nothing in return but the knowledge that you made a mistake." Which would probably be worth whatever he paid for it, actually. Because he'd spend the rest of his life wondering.

There was no way Fletcher's soul was still intact, in the Gate. There was nothing he could have paid for the privilege with. His body was here. If he traded his mind or his soul, all they'd end up bringing back was a homunculus.

He was sure. He'd repeat it until he believed it. Until Russ believed it.

No one could bring back the dead.

"You . . you can't know. You can't."

Edward left his head bowed, and he stood there as Russ's anger ebbed away.

"I'm sorry, Russell."

The other man didn't say anything else, and after a moment, Edward turned and left the laboratory.

- x -

He was considering panicking when he realized there was a small strip of light beneath the bedroom door.

Alphonse Elric took a deep, slow breath, considering his options. He couldn't really knock on the door; his left arm was nicely slinged up and his right held a glass of water and several pills. He could use his feet, but kicking the door was just plain rude. Besides, it was nearly two in the morning, and there was every chance Russell Tringum had fallen asleep with the light on.

Then again, the door was closed. Just because the light was on didn't mean Russ was in there. The laboratory was proof enough of that.

Again, Al considered waking up his brother. Ed had crashed in the kitchen, his face plastered to the tabletop and remarkably peaceful-looking. He'd been quite busy since he'd left the hospital; the fridge was filled with food that simply needed to be either thrown in the oven or reheated on the stove. A list of ingredients had been made and stuck beneath a pie, which was untouched, and several sheets of paper bearing his normal encoded notes lay just beneath his armored hand.

He'd only glanced; they had to do with specifications on the trap Sorn had set. He hadn't gotten far, either, which indicated he'd fallen asleep soon after starting them.

The real question was when. If Russ really wasn't in that bedroom . . .

He knew he needed to wake nii-san up anyway, but he just looked so damn serene. It was a good look on him, and not one he had very often. His sleep was light enough that he'd shifted a little when Al had draped a throw over his shoulders, so he clearly wasn't in a coma. It was time for him to take some meds, but if the headache wasn't waking him, he didn't see any reason to do so in its place.

Russ, on the other hand, probably did need to be woken, if nothing else to take the pills he'd carried upstairs. Broken ribs hurt worse than just about anything else you could do to yourself besides burns, and once the pain got out of hand, it would take twice the amount of drugs to knock it back as it would just to maintain some semblance of pain management.

He was taking his own meds on the dot, according to his pocketwatch, and was going to continue to do so. There was no way he could fight with his arm. Not that he thought he'd been needing to, but Mustang hadn't taken him off investigative duties, either –

Al frowned, still hesitating in front of the bedroom door. Mustang hadn't done much of anything besides grill him for information. Hadn't offered him any in return. Nor new orders. Nor orders to continue with the previous ones, either, actually. Once he'd described his trip to first Jannai and then Rountal, his meeting with Avram Blane, and the trap they'd set off, he'd been told to rest. After a couple hours of hard-core nagging, he'd finally been allowed to leave, but Patterson had specifically delayed that discharge for hours, doubtlessly hoping he'd drift off and end up sleeping the whole night.

Not likely. Not with Russ and Ed both in the same house.

Not after what had happened in the apothecary.

He really wasn't sure what sort of reaction he was going to get. If nii-san and Russ had already had a discussion on human transmutation and why it was a bad idea. He'd seen Lieutenant Ross outside in an automobile when he'd arrived, and she'd waved, but he didn't know when she'd gotten there and didn't know if she'd checked up on either of them. None of the food nii-san had made appeared to have been eaten, so he suspected she hadn't.

So there wasn't much to do besides ask one of them. And nii-san was sleeping.

His frown deepening, Alphonse tapped on the door with the toe of his boot.

There was no answer.

Al tapped again, a little more loudly. No sound at all came from inside, not even clothing rustling. Carefully maneuvering his left arm, he got his hand on the doorknob, and luckily it turned without effort.

The room wasn't empty, but it wasn't exactly occupied, either.

It was what he'd expect out of Russ's bedroom; neat, and rather small, with a full bed in the center of the opposite wall, flanked by two old but sturdy-looking nightstands. A dresser sat just next to the door, on top of which perched a large photo of the brothers and a lamp wrought to look like ivy winding up iron. It was the only source of light in the room, and it brightly illuminated the form of Russell Tringum, curled over his stomach on the side of the bed.

He was a mess. Far more than Al had anticipated. His shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his back like a second skin and accentuating the bandages still wound around his chest. He was clutching his abdomen as if it pained him, mouth slightly open but his breaths silent. Sweat – or tears – dripped from his lowered chin, and Al followed the man's gaze to the floor, where a small, round pattern of dirt caught his eye.

There were other pieces, clumped to the sides of Russell's shoes.

So he'd gone somewhere. And Ed had probably slept through it.

"Hey," he tried tentatively, taking a step into the room. "Doc sent me with some meds."

The figure on the bed flinched slightly, and when Russ looked up, Al was startled to see that he was smiling. It was self-deprecating, the kind you smiled when you were too tired to be angry but just realized you'd screwed up some paperwork two hours ago. Tears were pouring down his face, mingling with the sweat, and Al forced himself not to waver.

"Of course it's you." Russ shook his head with a chuckle. "Of course it is."

Unsure of how to proceed, Al hesitated near the door. "I see you went for a walk."

Russ blinked, his eyes shifting to the side, before dropping his head again. This time he wasn't looking at his feet; even as Al watched, Russ toyed with a crumpled piece of paper, previously hidden in his fist. "I was . . . looking."

The man let the piece of parchment fall, and Al could see a dark stain across his fingers.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He barely managed it above a whisper. It was ink on his hand. It was ink from the parchment because he was sweating.

It was too cool outside for him to be sweating like this.

Al abandoned proper protocol, advancing on the other alchemist even as Russell chuckled again. As he got a better view of the huddled alchemist, he could see that his shirt was stained as well, more towards the right than anywhere else-

Some of the blood was old, but some of it was fresh.

"How could I? Your brother says there's nothing to find." The man shuddered, and hugged himself again. Al stopped just short of touching distance, still palming the pills. Outside of that one bloodstain, nothing appeared to be missing, no gaping wounds, but of course, depending on what he sacrificed, it might not be readily visible-

"You don't have to stay." The voice was bitter. "Those pills won't help."

"They'll help you sleep, Russ. You need to rest." There was no telling where he went, what he did . . . Al eyed the crumpled paper, debating flattening it out. Studying the array that was sure to be on it, seeing what the Winding Tree Alchemist had determined would be enough.

Or maybe he'd determined nothing would be.

Russ flinched again. "I can't sleep in here."

It was so quiet Al almost couldn't hear it, and he paused to give the room a quick once-over. There was nothing of interest on the end tables, and his gaze was drawn back to the dresser, studying the picture there. Russ was grinning widely, clutching his State Alchemist pocketwatch in one hand and trying to fend off his exuberant and plainly laughing brother with the other. Russ was in a suit, while Fletcher was dressed more casually, which meant it was probably the day Russell had been given the watch and the title of Winding Tree Alchemist.

There was no reason Russ would have a photo of himself getting his pocketwatch on his dresser, no matter how goofy a picture of Fletcher it was.

This wasn't Russell's bedroom. It was Fletcher's.

"Go home, Al." He coughed once, and a low moan escaped him. "And take Ed with you."

Instead, Al sank down on the mattress beside him. Russ tensed, but Al just offered him the glass of water. "I will, once you take these." He had no intentions of doing so, not until he was sure exactly what had happened, was sure that Russ was sleeping and it would be okay to leave him alone-

He mentally snorted at himself. Hell, he could have been sitting _on top of _Russell, and he doubted the man could have been more alone.

"Equivalent exchange to a fault, huh." Russ chuckled again, and sitting this close, Al realized it was really a sob. "God damn you, Alphonse Elric."

Al just held out the glass of water. His presence was probably not helping, he should have thought about it but he was just in such a hurry to get back there and make sure the two of them-

But obviously they'd already had that conversation. And since Russ had clearly had the opportunity to do whatever he wanted, perhaps he should be encouraged that the man was still alive enough to take it out on him.

"Take the pills, Russ."

"How can you sit there?" Russ was obviously too tired for any real anger. Maybe he'd already screamed his fill at nii-san. "How can you sit on this bed and tell me that there's nothing you can do."

He studied the other man for a moment. "Believe me, I know how you feel."

Another chuckle-sob. "I really can't deal with this tonight, Al."

"I thought the same thing you did, you know." Al stared at the glass of water, hoping Russ would take the hint. "If there was anything I could have done, anything any of us could have done-"

"Please shut up." Russ buried his chin in his chest. "Please don't say it."

Al hesitated, then closed his mouth. It was a long time before Russ spoke again.

"I thought it was him. On the stairs, just now. When you opened the door, I was thinking, I tracked mud all over the floor, and he was going to let me have it-" Russ shuddered out a sigh. "I trust you. I really do. But I just can't – I can't do this, Al."

Russell took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes angrily. "At least Ed was man enough to try. I can't even do that."

Something tense in Al's stomach relaxed slightly. So he hadn't tried to bring him back . . .? "Russell . . ."

"He died, Al." It was slow and deliberate, as if Russ was tasting it, wrapping his tongue around something scalding to see just how painful it really was. "My little brother is gone."

". . . I'm so sorry."

Russell moaned again, low in his throat. "I can say it and say it and it doesn't ch-change anything. I feel like he's about to wwalk up those s-stairs."

Al hesitated, then clamped the glass of water between his knees and laid his hand gently on Russell's back. "I know."

Russell cradled his stomach more tightly, and Al drew a soothing circular pattern on his sweat-soaked back. He waited until Russ's ragged breathing evened out a little before he spoke again.

"You'll see him again, Russ."

The other alchemist choked. "You don't believe in God."

"Nii-san doesn't believe in God. I . . ."

The other man turned towards him, and Al smiled sadly.

". . . I've seen things he hasn't."

". . . in the Gate?"

Al nodded, never stopping the motion of his hand. "When part of my soul was stuck there, I saw . . . lots of people. Thousands of people. Ancient people, farmers, soldiers, infants . . . sensei called it Hell, and nii-san called it Truth. I think in a way, they're both right. The Gate can lead to a specific place, if you're strong enough to ask."

Russ just stared at him, brokenly. " . . . but then why c-can't I . . .?"

"Because once you arrive at your destination . . . maybe you realize there's no reason to go back."

Russell's face crumpled slightly, and his voice sounded lost. ". . . there's me."

"He knows you'll get there when you're good and ready." Al swallowed around a suddenly tight throat. "On Earth, there was a poet named Edwin Arnold. He said, 'Farewell, yet not farewell, where I go, ye, too shall dwell. I am gone, before your face, a moment's time, a little space. When ye come where I have stepped ye will wonder why ye wept.'"

Russell turned away, a fresh set of tears tumbling down his cheeks. "I don't wonder," he whispered. "He died alone, Al. My little brother died alone."

Al wrapped his arm around the other alchemist's shoulder, pulling him close. "He wasn't alone, Russell. He knew you loved him. Trust me when I tell you it's more than enough."

Russ made a keening sound, low in his throat. "He . . . he'll still be gone when I wake up."

Al waited a moment, then he nodded. "Yes."

They sat there on the bed for a long time before Al removed his arm from the other man, and offered him the glass, one more time. The look the alchemist gave him almost broke his heart.

"I-I don't want to-"

To sleep. To awaken, knowing there would be a few seconds of peace before memory came crashing down again. "I know."

It took almost a half-hour to convince him to take the meds, and longer still before he seemed ready to leave Fletcher's room. He was asleep almost before his head hit his own pillow, and Al left the lamp on beside his bed, staring at the photograph there for a long time before he went to collect his own brother.

- x -

**Author's Notes:** Well, a great big boatload of nothing. Besides a very crafty escape for Patterson . . . sorry for the delay on the chapter, the next one should be coming up pretty soon. After all, what do mourning Elrics do but work . . . as usual, if you spot anything amiss, please let me know!

Also, I have an announcement. And this was by far the hardest choice, I went back to the original Perfect After All and really looked and counted and considered . . . and I think the reviewer that has really gone out of their way to follow this trilogy through its entire sordid history . . . is JChrys. For going so far above and beyond, it would be my honor to give her a fic of her choice (no, not another sequel. I draw the line. ; ) as a token of my gratitude. Any genre I write, any characters, any situation. PM or email me and I'll get started right away! It'll be good to have a deadline again. ; )


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He waved down the salute before she even had a chance to stand, and while his eyes remained on her, he turned his head slightly to his right.

"There's no need to leave your post."

Hawkeye took her feet anyway, and Goodman gave her a slightly apologetic look before General Hakuro stepped into her line of sight.

"This will only take a few minutes."

Colonel Riza Hawkeye waited until he'd approached the desk, then inclined her head in greeting. "What brings you to my office this morning, General?"

Not that it was a great mystery. In truth, they'd all known it was only a matter of time. Hakuro had as much access to the State Alchemists' records as any other high-ranking military officer, and most of the alchemists were still only majors. Alphonse had already revealed to them yesterday that he'd seen soldiers in Jannai as he'd left for Rountal, and a town that small couldn't possibly have kept the visit of a National Alchemist a secret.

Hakuro was many things, but the general was not inept. He was searching for Franklin Sorn as diligently as they were, and in truth, she'd expected to have this conversation yesterday.

Well, actually, she'd expected Mustang to have had this conversation yesterday. He was currently in Parliament; session had just begun, which the general damn well knew. He'd come specifically to speak with her and her alone.

Because without the Prime Minister present, he was the highest-ranking official there. Goodman, who was stationed outside her office door as much to receive orders as he was to watch the main entrance, was merely an agent of Parliament. That made him equivalent to the highest-ranking civilian security officer. Brooks, who was in the main office opposite him, and far out of view, was the same. Both had top military security clearance, which meant they could overhear the State's secrets, but it didn't mean anything when it came to giving or receiving military orders.

Challiel, Mustang's secretary, was a lieutenant. And she was required to remain where she was, in the main office, to answer phones during Parliament sessions. Not only that, but all the pages in the Prime Minister's wing were military, and of low rank. Hakuro could and probably already had prevented her from sending Mustang a warning.

He'd also effectively stopped Goodman from being able to do the same. And that was a problem. Session had just started, which meant the first interim break wouldn't happen for over an hour.

She couldn't stall the general that long.

The general removed his dress hat, settling himself comfortably in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He let his hat dangle from his fingertips, twirling it idly as his eyes searched her desk. "I came to receive a report, colonel. Please, be seated."

As if he needed to invite her to be seated at her own desk. She kept her expression unruffled, retaking her chair and her pen. "I'm just finishing it now, sir."

The salt-and-peppered general raised a bushy eyebrow. "Is that so?"

She inclined her head again, adding her signature to the short stack of papers. Once that was done, she pursed her lips and blew lightly on the ink, ensuring it was completely absorbed into the fibers of the document before sliding it into the folder. When there was no other excuse to continue fussing over it, she offered it to the general, who accepted it. His eyes moved across the top line, then rose back up to hers.

"This isn't the report I was referring to."

She had little doubt that was the case. He was sent, weekly, a report of all the Prime Minister's meetings and whether security protocols were followed. Though Mustang had honorary command of her team, it was honorary only. She was still a colonel, and he had resigned his military title to assume the mantle of Prime Minister. As such, her budget, itinerary, and all SOPs were approved by Hakuro, the highest-ranked military officer currently serving the State.

And there was nothing in that report he didn't already know.

She raised her eyebrows slightly in an attempt to look surprised, but she was no actress, and she knew he saw through it when his expression shifted. "I believe that's the only report due-"

"Let's cut to the chase, Hawkeye. The Binding Life Alchemist Alphonse Elric was in Jannai two days ago. He made a phone call to Central, though the switchboard operator couldn't be more specific. He arrived back in Central yesterday morning, where he collected Full Metal and then promptly almost got himself killed." The general leaned forward slightly, tossing the report carelessly back onto her desk. "Where is his report from that investigation?"

As his report was neither written nor recorded, she had a small amount of technical leeway. "I have not received a report from Alphonse Elric since his last review of the cleanup efforts-"

Hakuro indicated the report he'd just discarded with his chin. "According to your own statements, you were present during the Prime Minister's visit to the base hospital, were you not?"

"Yessir."

"And was Alphonse Elric conscious at the time of the visit?"

"Yessir."

He spread his hands. "If the report was made verbally, you will repeat it for me at this time."

Yes. Her protests had bought her an entire ten seconds. Hawkeye glanced up again as Goodman moved, at the entrance of her office, but of course he hadn't left, so he could not be of any help. Hakuro didn't miss it.

"You will give me the information or I will have you charged with impeding a military investigation and relieved of your command." It was simple and final. "Considering you're the only reason Mustang's still breathing, I wonder how long he'll last with his most trusted subordinate in prison."

While it was flattering, it wasn't entirely true. "With all due respect, sir-"

"You haven't given me all due respect since you were a lieutenant, Riza. What did Alphonse tell him."

The use of her first name threw her off for a second, and she studied the general in front of her closely. He wasn't waving his clout about as he usually did, as he'd undoubtedly done with Heymans. It wasn't like the general to be so single-mindedly focused, and to threaten to arrest her and strip her of command. She would have expected he'd simply do it. She'd already given him enough reason.

And there really wasn't much point in hiding what Alphonse had found. Unless Sheska was able to piece something together from Alphonse's utterly unremarkable report, there was nothing to hide. Sorn wasn't in Jannai, and he wasn't with his sensei in Rountal, either. Blane seemed in good standing; a preliminary background check had only reinforced the younger Elric's impression. The only slightly unusual thing seemed to be the death of the forty or so drifters that had occurred in the town a few years ago, and nothing related their disappearance to the current situation.

Unless the assassins were really Ishbalans, still determined to take revenge for the genocide of their people. Ishbalans that had spent a very long time in a very dark place to neutralize the characteristic dark skin of their race.

"Alphonse Elric was injured yesterday morning, as you well know. He was under the influence of strong painkillers at the time of the Prime Minister's visit-"

Hakuro cut her off with a wave of his hand, tossing his hat into his lap. "How did he know where Sorn's trap would be?"

How did Hakuro know they thought the rigged insurance building had been set by Sorn? "I don't know what y-"

"Enough bullshit, colonel." Finally, his voice was its usual sharp tone. "One of them found something. Either it was Full Metal, in the child's library, or it was Alphonse. Unless you want to be implicated in the assassination attempts on Mustang, I expect you to start talking."

And there was the expected threat. Riza pulled herself up stiffly. "I have no relevant information to give you, General. Alphonse Elric has not given an official report on his mission to Jannai."

Hakuro stared at her flatly a moment before he heaved a heavy sigh. "He's going to get himself killed."

For a moment, she wasn't certain who they were talking about. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I doubt you've followed the man all these years only to see him fail now." The general leaned forward, eyes still sharp, but . . . there was something in his tone that hadn't been there before. "If he's covering for the Mechanical Alchemist, I need to know."

So that was it. That was his angle. "You believe Franklin Sorn is behind the assassination attempts?" She couldn't keep the skepticism out of her voice, but he didn't seem to take exception.

"Mustang's already questionable judgment has historically been extremely poor in regard to children biting off more than they can chew."

It wasn't an answer, but it was certainly a valid point. "I assure you, I have not received any information regarding the whereabouts of Franklin Sorn, General."

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a moment." He leaned back, almost contemplatively. "Tell me, Hawkeye, what do you think would happen to the country if the Prime Minister was killed?"

Such supposition was dangerously close to treason, but it was a fairly direct question. "That would depend upon the reaction of Parliament, General. It's difficult to say."

"War." He shifted in the chair, as if to get more comfortable. As if he intended to be there for a while. "If Drachma didn't sense a weakness, Creta or Aeruga would. No matter if Parliament elected a new Prime Minister the very next day, the faith of the people would be lost. Morale in the country would decline. The current economic boom would turn to recession." He tapped her desk with his hat. "What did your latest report on the attempt two days ago find?"

It was easy to tell where he was going, but difficult to derail him. "The uniforms were purchased from a reputable seamstress here in Central, paid in cenz, but the firearms were obviously not standard issue. Such an oversight immediately marked them as suspicious. Furthermore, they were unable to gain entry to the Prime Minister's wing the first time they attempted. The guards below recorded two other attempts to enter the wing, both during the previous hour."

"And what does that tell you, Colonel?"

She shrugged eloquently. "The assassins are getting more desperate. However, I don't believe it implicates the Drachmans-"

Another dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, I'm sure the Drachman ambassador was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, I'm glad we agree."

"Sir?"

"If you were the one behind these attempts, colonel, what would cause you to press forward so recklessly?"

The answer was simple; they were in a hurry. They had a timetable to keep, either to avoid detection or to upset the proverbial domino. However, he'd just stated he didn't think the Drachman ambassador had anything to do with it, so if he was still pushing his Drachmans racing the winter theory, he'd just blown it. "I really can't say, sir."

His expression was almost pitying. "Do you really follow him that blindly, Riza?"

She was barely able to keep herself from bristling. Instead, she opted for a cool smile. "Is there anything else I can do for you, General?"

"You've yet to give me the information I requested, colonel. I grow tired of asking, so this will be the last time."

"Her silence is on my order."

Hawkeye blinked, glancing over the surprised general to see a familiar, unruly mop of black hair. He was walking quickly, with Brooks just behind him, and his hands were empty and curled.

He'd probably marched directly out of Parliament to them. But how had he known . . .?

The general recovered quite well, getting to his feet unhurriedly. "I'm certain you have those orders documented, Minister." He turned without a trace of apprehension to face the angry-looking Prime Minister of Amestris, and he did not salute. "I wonder if all your subordinates are so trustworthy."

Mustang didn't bother to acknowledge either the slight or the barb. "If there is something you wished to discuss with me, you should have come to me personally."

"Then let me make amends, Minister. What did Alphonse Elric discover in Jannai that led to the injuries he suffered yesterday?"

Roy studied him coldly for a moment, then turned towards the door. Brooks had retreated to the threshold, standing beside Goodman, and Riza was certain Goodman gave her a slight smile.

"Gentlemen, please excuse us for a moment."

They closed the door without so much as a nod, and Mustang extended his arm, indicating the chairs in front of her desk. "Perhaps you're right, general. Perhaps there is some information we could share that might enlighten us both."

Hawkeye glanced at his face, but he didn't look her way, and after a moment she took her seat as well. Hakuro was a little less relaxed, but still confident. What did he think he had . . . ? Did it have to do with something Breda had told him?

When Mustang had taken the third seat, he clasped his hands and studied them a moment. "Alphonse Elric didn't find anything in Jannai of note."

"So it was Full Metal." Hakuro looked the Prime Minister over for a long second. "You'll still move to protect him, won't you."

Again, Hawkeye wasn't certain to whom the general was referring. Mustang, however, seemed to be on the same page. "There's no evidence-"

"There's every evidence!" The general swallowed his next words, and lowered his voice significantly when he spoke again. "Don't be a fool, Mustang. None of the reports of the explosion at Laboratory Five or examinations of the dead chimera have found any evidence of any other alchemist present. The Mechanical Alchemist put traps in his own personal notes! Clearly he doesn't want to be found, and he doesn't want to be followed. Who's to say the investigating officers don't lose their lives in the next 'trap'?"

"For the sake of argument, let's say he was mining Red Stone." Roy's gaze never left his hands. "We should devote full military attention to a single AWOL alchemist?"

"Well, let's consider what the last alchemist with an amplifier on his hands accomplished." The general started ticking points off on his fingers. "Property damage almost on the financial scale of the Thule Invasion. Sixty-four killed at last count, excluding Tringum. Of those sixty-four, eight were Nationally Certified Alchemists. You were nearly one of that number, and you were defeated in combat by the equivalent of a potato farmer."

Mustang leaned back in his chair, apparently content to listen, and the general was just as pleased to keep talking.

"Now, let's be clear. On a personal level, I don't give a damn if you're breathing tomorrow or not. But the country simply can't afford your recklessness. The boy is a threat, and he needs to be treated as one."

Hakuro paused, clearly giving Mustang an opportunity to respond, so he took a long time. And Riza was certain Hakuro knew Mustang well enough to know the pause was to irritate him, nothing more.

"What evidence do you have that Franklin Sorn bears me ill will?" It was almost amused. "At least check, the Mechanical Alchemist was a valuable and loyal tool of the State."

"You know as well as I do that the Elrics took care of the 'evidence.'" Hakuro made a dismissive noise. "They broke down the lead, so we couldn't compare ballistics. Nonetheless, the statements of Franklin Sorn's neighbors are sufficient."

Hawkeye sharpened her attention, scanning her desk but knowing what she was looking for wasn't there. Al had mentioned the gunman when he'd spoken with them, and it only made sense the neighbors would have noticed.

"Statements?" Mustang didn't sound even remotely curious.

"Four men opened fire on Sorn's house three nights ago. Right after they did so, the neighbors reported seeing alchemic reactions, which led them to believe Franklin was present and unharmed. That and assurances from the Full Metal Alchemist himself that everything was fine. A police report was still filed, though I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't trickled its way to your desk yet." Hakuro sounded almost smug. "I doubt they were there because they knew the Elrics had broken into Sorn's house."

Four gunmen? Alphonse hadn't mentioned getting an exact number, though under that kind of fire it would be hard to get an accurate count-

"How is that evidence that the Mechanical Alchemist is out to kill me?"

Hakuro tilted his head. "How many were in the last party that attacked you, Minister?"

"You think it was the same group of people?" Riza couldn't keep the sharpness out of her voice. That was . . . a huge stretch at best.

"I think it would be foolish to assume they weren't connected," he replied, quite a bit more mildly. "There's nothing in Sorn's files that would indicate why a hit squad would be dispatched to eliminate him."

. . . and that was why he thought Mustang was protecting Sorn.

Roy was quiet again, but this time it really was thoughtful, and Hakuro waited quite patiently for him to speak.

"Franklin Sorn came to me shortly after being certified, looking for information on the Philosopher's Stone."

Hakuro didn't so much as blink. So he knew that. Then again, those were records. The amount of time he spent studying the Elrics' notes, the literature he checked out of the First Library, as well as his visits to Mustang's office.

"I gave him the same run-around I gave Fullmetal, but unlike the Elrics, the reason for his seeking the Stone were never revealed."

"This only supports my position," the general interrupted, finally impatient. "You know that boy is after a Philosopher's Stone. You know an amplifier was used in the creation of the dead chimera. The boy is conveniently absent the day Laboratory Five's grid is assigned to another alchemist, and his home is visited by gunmen that night. The same number of gunmen that then turned around and made a very sloppy and nearly successful attempt on your life."

"You think they were looking for Franklin?"

The general glanced at her, apparently forgiving her lack of 'sir.' "He made his search for a Philosopher's Stone no secret. A like amplifier in the hands of a single spiteful alchemist could have destroyed Central herself. The boy is fifteen, and he's no Full Metal."

She couldn't decipher if that was a good or bad characteristic, and Roy frowned at the general. "Make up your mind. Do you think Sorn's a victim or are you proposing he's aiding the party trying to kill me?"

"I think the boy is ultimately still pursuing his own goals. Perhaps he was trading information to the enemy in return for information he couldn't get here. I don't pretend to be an expert on alchemy, Minister. Edward wasn't particularly forthcoming on the subject of other countries' understanding of how alchemical amplifiers are created."

The concept that Franklin Sorn could be informing for the enemy had, truthfully, never crossed her mind. They really hadn't known about the gunmen prior to yesterday, but even so, she hadn't assembled the clues in that order . . . and it could make sense. Sorn had been working with the Elrics for some time now, and if he realized they truly weren't going to help him, he could have looked outside Amestris for assistance.

Perhaps there was something they could use from Alphonse's report after all.

Almost as if on cue, her phone rang. It was a single, long chime, and she let it finish before inclining her head to her two superiors and answering it.

"Colonel Hawkeye."

"I'm sorry to bother you, colonel." Challiel's voice was subdued. "The report from the base hospital is in, and Dr. Patterson requested to speak with the Prime Minister personally. Is he still in your office?"

She offered the handset across the desk. "Dr. Patterson's report is in, Minister."

Roy accepted the handset, and she assumed the doctor was put through. He was silent for quite a long time.

"What else."

It wasn't a question, and Roy's expression hardened considerably. Hakuro was watching him as closely as she was, and it occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn't have accepted the call with the general present. Not that she could have easily removed either of them from her office.

"No, doctor, you've done well." Roy glanced up at her briefly. "Are there any tests that might give you a more accurate picture?" Another long stretch. "Of course. Thank you for updating me." He listened a second more, then offered her the receiver. His expression didn't relax as she cradled the phone, and he sighed softly.

"You've been frank with me, general, and I appreciate it." The tone was measured. "Perhaps locating Sorn is a higher priority than I originally considered it."

Hakuro stared at the Prime Minister, a flash of something in his eyes. It was too hard to tell from her angle if it was triumph or bewilderment. "Dr. Patterson reported a discrepancy?"

"You could say that." Roy looked her way, and Riza picked up a pen. Very rarely did he dictate to her; that was Challiel's job. But she'd worked with him too long not to recognize that expression.

"The doctor confirmed that Fletcher Tringum died of heart failure. The blood work came back clean."

It wasn't noteworthy until he continued. "His core body temperature at the time of the autopsy was 68 degrees Fahrenheit. Room temperature."

Fletcher had died in the morning, sometime between eight am and eleven am. He was found in the afternoon, and his autopsy was performed very late that evening. Not even fifteen hours had passed between his time of death and the procedure.

It was cool outside, but certainly not cold enough there or in the hospital to explain that. The body held heat quite efficiently. His body would not have dropped to room temperature until 18-24 hours after death.

The general shifted, edging slightly closer to the desk. "That's impossible. After death, the core body temperature drops about a degree and a half per hour. That would have put his time of death . . . twenty hours ago."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "Patterson said the same thing. He doesn't know of any chemicals that would cause those findings, but he's continuing his tests."

Hawkeye made the notes, including the general's estimation. When he'd been a lower-ranking officer, he'd actually been stationed with the military's criminal investigation unit. His guess was probably correct.

That said, his having that information . . .

"What do you think it means?"

Roy's face was still tense, though his posture didn't belie it. "Maybe nothing. The doctor should know more when his testing is complete. Colonel, call the Tringum residence. Tell Alphonse Dr. Patterson could use some assistance."

Assistance with an autopsy . . . ? Riza thought back to the Elrics' original reports of the time they spent on the other side of the Gate. Wasn't it Ed who had been the doctor? "Sir, are you certain you wouldn't rather it was Edward?"

Roy shook his head. "Fullmetal needs to get back to Sorn's study. If there's anything else to learn in his research notes, we need to know."

Then the Prime Minister seemed to remember who else was in the room, and turned towards the general. "I would consider it a personal favor if you would stop interfering with his investigations."

Hakuro's white eyebrows rose slightly. ". . . very well." He seemed to find the agreement as distasteful as Riza found it surprising, and sat up rather formally. "Assuming you'll be forthcoming with the results of that investigation."

Roy inclined his head once.

"As for Russell Tringum, I think it's safe to say that he has nothing to do with the attempts on my life."

"Agreed." Certainly, he would not continue to be working for the enemy at the possible cost of his brother. If his cadaver was unnaturally cold . . . but what could that mean? That he died before he was seen entering the hospital? Then who walked in and asked to see the doctor? And how was his body brought in?

But Patterson had said that Russell performed alchemy on the body. Was that why Mustang wanted Alphonse Elric involved? To determine what he'd done?

Or to determine if something else was at work?

"I want to leave Maria Ross on him, just to make sure he has some company. All other military supervision on Tringum should be re-allocated." It was pretty much an announcement, not a request, so Hakuro didn't respond. "Colonel, please give the Elrics their assignments immediately."

Mustang stood, signaling the end of the meeting, and she and the general shadowed him to the door. He paused only a few steps away, his jaw muscles prominent beneath the eyepatch.

"I'm giving you more trust than you've earned, general. Don't disappoint me."

Hakuro's expression was sour, but his voice was almost friendly as he pulled open the door. "After you, Minister."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: A short one for a change. If I'd included the next scene it would have been too crazy-long. All that action I've been promising all these chapters is nearly here! I told you guys I could kill something with enough plot if given the opportunity . . . as usual, no beta, if you see anything glaring, please let me know!

And I'm a little surprised no one's pointed out the plothole I wrote into this thing . . . :faceplants: Thank you all very much for the lovely reviews, and I hope you found this introspection a little easier to stomach, Ganimyde?


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"If at any time you feel faint or want to leave, please don't hesitate."

Al blinked, carefully not changing his expression, and he could see the doctor wince out of the corner of his eye. " . . . which was an incredibly stupid thing for me to say to you. Sorry. It's habit."

"It's fine." After all, he doubted Patterson had ever run across anyone who had assembled an adult human body out of base elements when they were seven years old. An adult female. Nor did he know many people who had carried their dying brother over a mile, bleeding from two rather clean stumps where limbs had once been. If ever the sight of the insides of a human body, or blood, was going to bother him, it would have been then.

He contemplated whether or not he could have actually fainted as a suit of armor. He suspected the answer was yes. He'd lost consciousness before in that form, so it only made sense that if he was going to pass out at the sight of blood, he still could have done it as the armor. Not that there was any threat of him doing so now, fully human. He'd seen enough in Europe to know what his tolerance was.

Far higher than it should have been.

So the sight of Fletcher Tringum's body, with the classic Y incision exposing his chest cavity, was more interesting than anything else. The cadaver was no longer his friend. Now it was a collection of systems and tubes that couldn't be added together into a whole body. It had become simply a thing. He knew when it was put back together, dressed in a suit, lying in a casket, that he would reassemble the pieces into a whole, and mourn. It would never become Fletcher Tringum again, but he would eventually again see it as a symbol of what the man had been.

For right now, though, it was just another system that had failed, and Al leaned in close, studying the cuts in the organs. Russell hadn't been wrong; they were in textbook shape, ignoring the evidence that they'd already been removed, weighed, and examined by the doctor before being replaced.

"There's nothing there. No tumors, no cancer, no ulcers. He was in excellent health."

Al reached into the ribcage, shifting things around so he could follow the major blood vessels to the heart. There was some evidence of oxygen deprivation, some discoloration of the tissue, but over twenty-four hours into death, there was going to be.

"How did you come to the conclusion of heart failure?"

"Clean bloodwork. His fingernails and lips suggest oxygen deprivation prior to death, as well as the retention of liquids here, near his lungs." Dr. Patterson moved to the other side of the examination table, squeezing the left lung. A pinkish fluid oozed out of the top, where it had once been connected to the bronchial tubes. "Its onset was sudden, probably brought on by the work he'd done that morning."

Al glanced along the rest of the pulmonary system, then moved onto the digestive, checking the color of the intestines. He found nothing out of the ordinary, and palpating them revealed no obvious cysts or obstructions. He frowned, feeling five or six feet down the top row of small intestines before he figured out why they felt so strange.

"Empty." Al glanced up at the doctor. "He didn't eat breakfast? Or did you already flush them?"

Patterson gave him a long, steady look. "Did Mustang tell you why you're here?"

Al shook his head. "The colonel said you needed help determining something." Hawkeye hadn't sounded particularly concerned, but hadn't given him a timetable either, and since Patterson hadn't been surprised to see him he'd figured the doctor would get to it eventually-

"This body was too cold."

He chewed on that for a moment. Yes, Fletcher's skin had been cool to the touch when he'd knelt beside the body and touched it, but that was normal and would happen within a couple hours. The face was mostly just skin attached to bone, it wouldn't retain heat like a dense organ, such as the liver or brain. "How cold is too cold?"

"About nine degrees too cold." The doctor was continuing to watch him. "That's what made me start looking."

"Looking?"

Patterson returned his gaze to the body, touching organs in turn. "His liver was room temperature when I examined him, as was everything else. I thought perhaps he'd eaten or drank something that might have caused an inflammation in his blood vessels, to explain the drop in core body temperature. I found his stomach was completely empty. As were his upper and lower intestines. And his bladder." He prodded the offending organ, rotating it within the body. "While there was evidence of post-mortem evacuation on his clothes, and on the floor, swabbing the inside of this bladder revealed no traces of urine."

No food in his system, no urine in his bladder . . . Al stared hard at the body. He couldn't think of anything that would flush a bladder like that. "When you say no trace, you mean-"

"I mean I turned the organ inside-out." A neat, small row of black stitches showed the doctor had done just that. "No sodium present on any of the internal surfaces."

"What about his colon?"

Patterson shook his head. "Nothing there either. Completely clean. Like he'd never used it."

Alphonse Elric blinked up at him. Like it had never been used . . . ?

"I saw Russell Tringum perform alchemy on this body." The doctor said it a bit hesitantly. "So I needed to ask an alchemist. Is . . . whatever he did responsible for this?"

To be honest, Al didn't know what Russell had done. He hadn't even thought to ask the man, either yesterday or this morning. Russ had just been crawling out of bed when he and nii-san had been called by the colonel, and hadn't begrudged them the use of his shower or towels. They'd left him staring blankly at the kitchen table, having taken his morning regiment of pills, holding a cup of tea. Russ hadn't said more than five words total to them, nor made any indication he recalled or was thinking about the conversation the night before.

Then again, Al had noticed that he and nii-san were taking pills of different shape and content than Russ, despite having like pain. He was pretty sure they were knocking Russ out, or at least having more of the usual painkilling haze than Patterson's homemade drugs. The doctor had probably done it on purpose, to help slow him down, and Al wasn't even sure he disapproved.

He had to remember he'd just been handling body parts; he wanted to rub at the whiskers on his chin. Whatever the transmutation had been, it was fast. Russell had used his body to form the circle, so no clues there. A quick flash, and he'd said the organs were fine, which was true.

Had he pulled everything out of the digestive tract, knowing Fletch didn't need it, and incorporated those ingredients back into the organs? That would explain why they weren't there . . . he could have broken down the waste.

But no. That would have been too much like the infusion of ingredients into his own body, when he'd been paralyzed. That transmutation had been almost exactly the same, putting a small amount of elements back into his systems. And it had taken a long time. At least a minute. This transmutation had lasted only a few seconds.

Then again, a body without a mind and soul wasn't necessarily human, was it? He wasn't trying to bring the cells back to life, and had no reason to be careful – but then they'd see the damages.

"Doc, can you pass me a scalpel?"

The doctor did as he was asked, and Alphonse carefully nicked out the sutures. "Sorry. I'll put them back," he apologized, exposing the inside of the bladder when he was done. The tissues would have been forced to absorb the salt that would have been present, which by now should have sucked liquid out of the cells and caused the tissue to swell. But the interior lining of the bladder was fine. No sign of edema or swelling.

There was no place he could have put it so quickly besides back into the bladder walls.

"No. I don't think so." What else . . . Al set the scalpel down on the metal examination table, staring critically at the body. "He could have broken down the waste, but if he used it to get a feel for the organs, we'd see the results of it. Tissue swelling. I don't see any of that here." It also wouldn't have given him a clear picture of anything besides Fletch's digestive tract, and would have bypassed heart, lungs, and brain.

"What about the drop in body temperature?"

Russ certainly could have chilled the body, but he wasn't sure how it would have helped him 'see' the interior. Either way, the body being impossibly cold wasn't nearly as disconcerting as this.

"You say the bloodwork came back clean?"

Patterson was giving him that same inscrutable look. "Yes. So I ran it again. It's really clean."

"Clean like no impurities."

"Clean like no fragments of red blood cells, no antibodies. Nothing but red and white blood cells and plasma."

And that was impossible. No one's kidneys were that good, and no matter how talented Russ was, he couldn't have reached out for all that material and transmuted it away in so little time.

"I didn't want to alarm the Prime Minister this morning, and I'm no alchemist. But I am a physician. And I would say that this body was never lived in."

A doll?

"Look." Patterson turned over one of Fletcher's hands. "He was doing manual labor earlier yesterday. But there's no damage to his skin. No bruises. No calluses, on his hands or his feet. Can alchemy do that?"

"But what about the edema in the lungs?" If it was a perfect body, why the evidence that the heart had failed? If someone had created a doll, it would never have breathed, and however perfect the heart was made, it would never beat.

The doctor shook his head. "That's why I'm asking. This doesn't make any sense to me."

It didn't make any sense. Unless-

Unless someone made the body specifically that way. With the fluid in the lungs, the deoxygenated blood in the lips and fingertips.

Unless someone wanted to make a doll of a dead body.

Of course, Shou Tucker was dead. He was sure of it, knew nii-san was sure of it. He was the only one who could have made a doll of this quality, and he couldn't do it without-

Without Incomplete Stone. The same thing Dante had fed the homunculi to heal their bodies, to give them strength and keep them going. Of course, the dolls of Nina weren't homunculi. Was it really possible to create one without a full Philosopher's Stone? Or a sacrifice? And surely a sacrifice of that magnitude would have left evidence. Blood. Someone stumbling out of the hospital. Something. And if there was no homunculus, where was the body?

Perhaps someone had taken the remains and substituted the doll? In preparation of creating a homunculus later? Or just to have them . . .

The nurse had said she'd seen Fletcher walk in . . . so he obviously had been there. Was it possible that he had simply been subdued by someone, and the doll had been left behind for them to find? What if he wasn't actually dead?

"Alphonse?"

Al glanced back up. Patterson was giving him a concerned look. "You're starting to look like your brother. What are you thinking?"

Just what in the hell _was_ he thinking? That someone was trying to make them think that Fletcher Tringum was dead? Or that someone was going to try to resurrect him? Why else would anyone replace his body at this expense?

And who else did they know with Red Stone besides Franklin Sorn?

Just where had Russ gone last night? The mud on his shoes, the sweat. He'd been doing more than walking.

"I'm thinking this is a doll. A human body created through alchemy."

". . . but the body I initially examined was real." The doctor looked a little shaken, but surely he'd already come to that conclusion on his own.

"How can you be sure? You said it was a preliminary examination-"

"There was sweat, light skin damage, dirt under his fingernails." He rattled it off almost as an afterthought. "Samples were taken of any substances found on the skin, and then the body was washed prior to the autopsy, it's a standard procedure. And the samples are being analyzed, but I don't think we're going to find anything unusual." His look was positively apologetic. "I had the same idea, but . . . I don't doubt the body you found was real."

Al tried not to look as disheartened as he felt at the news. It would make sense that Doc would notice those things, even on an initial exam. Looking for a wound, a point of entry or a poison. Then again, someone who had put so much effort into making this doll could easily have scuffed up his fingers and transmuted some sweat.

Still, while whoever created the doll had gotten the signs of heart failure correct, there were the other discrepancies, other details that weren't quite right. Who would think to transmute urine onto the clothes, but not into the bladder?

Al swallowed his disappointment, surprised at how bitter it really was.

"If this is a . . . a doll . . . then who replaced the body? And where are Fletcher's remains now?"

Both were excellent questions. And he could see why the doctor hadn't mentioned it to Roy earlier. Questions like that demanded another pair of eyes, just to ensure something wasn't being overlooked.

What could he be overlooking?

"When did you perform the initial examination?"

"Just before the Prime Minister arrived at the hospital. I didn't have enough time, and . . ." He hesitated. "I don't normally perform autopsies."

That and he'd been too worried about them. Maybe too worried the same would happen to them. "This wasn't your fault, doctor. You couldn't have known this would happen." Either his death or the subsequent kidnapping of the remains.

Patterson wouldn't meet his eyes, still staring at the body between them. "It's nice of you to say," he finally replied, quietly. "I'm sorry that I had to ask you here."

Al gave him a tight smile. "It's okay. I think Russ was getting tired of us hanging around anyway."

At that the doctor looked up sharply. "Us? You mean Ed isn't there anymore?"

Al grimaced apologetically. "Well, no. He's still trying to find Franklin. But I don't think Russell's going anywhere." In hindsight, with what they knew now . . . "I'll call Lieutenant Ross and make sure he's still home."

Patterson appeared to relax, just slightly. "Please do. I didn't realize he was under military supervision."

"Well, the lieutenant knew them from when they were kids." Kids being teens, really. He doubted they'd run into her until they'd been taken into custody for pretending to be the Elrics.

The doctor nodded, gaze once more returning to the doll. "The red blood cells I examined looked completely normal. Can I assume they're basically like the real thing?"

Al inclined his head. He knew exactly where the doctor was going. "Yes. They'll break down like real cells."

"Then I'll try to get an accurate time of . . . degradation, I suppose." Patterson gestured for the return of the scalpel, which Alphonse handed him immediately, and he took a sliver of liver tissue. "I know you want to help, but I really need to ask that you don't perform alchemy until we figure out what happened here. I know, this body isn't Fletcher's, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Alphonse watched the doctor pull a slide from the box and float the liver cells on it. "There's not much I could do diagnostically on this doll even if I wanted to, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well, no, actually, I was referring to Pinako Rockbell." He carried the slide carefully to a microscope on the bench, and Al stared at him.

"Pinako? What, her leg?" It wasn't like he knew enough about healing alchemy to do anything about that without a lot of study. Bones were alive, after all, so once again, this type of healing alchemy was dangerously close to human transmutation. The best he could do would be to flood the area with calcium, but it would still be up to the cells themselves to repair the damage. Unless he used iron to pin it somehow . . . ?

Patterson stiffed at the microscope, though his voice didn't change substantially. "Oh. You haven't spoken with her yet?"

Those were not words he wanted to hear. "Winry came and saw us yesterday . . ." Of course, she hadn't exactly gone into the damage . . . and the fake smile before they'd told her about Fletcher . . . Al's stomach clenched. "It's not her hip, is it."

Patterson was still for a moment, then he sighed. "No. I'm sorry I said anything. It wasn't my place."

Al stared hard at the doctor, but he didn't offer any more information, and after a beat Al turned on his heels, peeling the gloves off his hands as he went.

- x -

"I'm very sorry to hear of your loss."

He studied the speaker for a moment, finding nothing recognizable in the rather short, slightly round man. It was relieving, in a way, that he knew so few of the people in his house. Their words were meaningless, their sympathy didn't reach him. He didn't have to reminisce with them because they knew Fletcher by reputation alone, so there was no connection.

"Thank you," he responded mechanically, allowing this new guest to close the door behind himself. "There are refreshments in the kitchen if you'd like."

He didn't know where the food had come from and he didn't know how the dishes were being cleared. He didn't really care. Every once in a while Lt. Ross would come by with a glass and some pills and he would take them, but every time she handed him a plate it inevitably ended up on an end table somewhere, untouched, and eventually disappeared altogether.

Russell Tringum moved away from the front door, regarding the main hall a moment. He'd been drifting around the house all morning, no real destination in mind. Someone had put out some pictures of Fletcher, pictures he hadn't even known they'd had. Maybe some of the visiting had brought them. He couldn't really give them much attention, but distantly he appreciated the gesture.

"Actually, sir, I'd like to speak with you if you have but a moment."

This was something outside the scope of the verbal dance he'd been memorizing throughout the day, though it took his sluggish mind a long time to register it. In fact, he had already automatically acquiesced, and the speaker was shrugging out of a warm brown traveling jacket as they walked.

"I would never have approached you at a time like this if a life was not at stake," he was babbling in a low voice, "but perhaps I can be of some help in this matter."

Russell Tringum put on the brakes, stopping quite suddenly in the doorway to his lab. When had they walked down the hall . . .? Feeling more alert than he had all morning, he held up a hand, silencing the slightly portly man before him. "I don't think we've met."

"Of course, of course we haven't. How inconsiderate of me. The name's Blane, Avram Blane. It's an honor, major."

A sure and strong hand was offered to him, and Russell haltingly clasped it. The name wasn't ringing a bell. Blane seemed to be trying to, though, the effort he was putting into pumping his hand.

"You won't know the name, I'm sure. You're associated with one of my pupils, you see. Franklin Sorn."

Russell freed himself rather easily, not taking another step in the direction of his lab. He was scrabbling for focus, now, and it wasn't coming as quickly as it should. Sorn's sensei . . .

"What's this about?"

Blane licked his lips, glancing back down the hall. "I'd really rather not speak of it here, though I understand of course you have responsibilities and you cannot simply leave. Please, could we speak in private?"

He knew he should have been irritated, or suspicious, or even angry, that someone would approach him now and demand something of him. Remind him of his rank. Remind him that the world was still turning. But he hadn't felt anything, not since he'd woken, and he couldn't even drum up the energy to be interested.

"Now isn't a good time."

The man – alchemist, he had to have been – just nodded. "I understand how you feel, please believe me. It's a terrible thing to lose someone you love. And I have no right to ask this of you, but I need your help."

Russell just stared at him. Hadn't he just told this guy to take a hike . . .? "I said-"

"That it isn't a good time, and I couldn't agree with you more. Your brother wasn't much older than Frank, was he."

Russell was amazed he didn't so much as flinch. "What do you want."

The man sighed, then glanced down the hall again, fiddling with one of his suspenders. "A State Alchemist came to my home a few days ago, looking for my apprentice. Not four hours after he left a dozen soldiers showed up, asking the same. I know you worked with him, he mentioned you in his letters. Please." The man was looking him dead in the eye. "Something terrible is happening. I must find him, before . . . before someone else does. Someone who means to harm him."

Russell didn't say anything at all, though in truth he couldn't say he was thinking. He must have been silent for some time, because Blane started talking again.

"I know you're one of the professors at the Academy, he spoke highly of you. And I know you must have connections. Any help you can give me would be invaluable. I . . . I can't make any promises, but we might be able to help each other."

Help each other. Help him with what? "I'm afraid all my projects are on hold at the moment."

The shorter man was looking at him almost shrewdly, and again, he had the feeling that he ought to have been alarmed. He just didn't really care. There was no way this man could help. Not unless he could make Fletch suddenly walk through that front door again.

"I wasn't speaking of your research, unless – well, of course, you might have tried. I see that you're injured," he indicated with a quick wave of his hand. "But obviously not successfully, you see, it takes three. Three alchemists, and it doesn't always work."

Something pushed against the indifference, like the curled hand of a fetus through the skin of its mothers' womb. The beginnings of something. He shied away from it, physically rejecting the feeling by starting to walk away. Back towards the crowded, empty rooms with the crowded, empty words.

"We brought Franklin back after almost a month. There's hope."

He was halfway down the hall before the words really registered, and Russell turned to stare at the other alchemist. He hadn't moved from the doorway of the lab.

"What did you say?"

Blane gestured towards the lab door, keeping his voice low. "They say the Winding Tree Alchemist is also a talented healing alchemist, so surely you must understand. We have – I have – performed successful human transmutation. I cannot promise anything, but there could be a chance-"

He knew he should have been advancing on the man and physically ejecting him from the house. His second thought was to laugh. He couldn't drum up the incentive to do either.

"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Franklin Sorn died of an illness, almost eleven years ago."

. . . Franklin was a homunculus?

He shook his head to dislodge the thought. That was ridiculous. This entire conversation was surreal. Maybe it was the drugs. Surely he hadn't just said he had brought Franklin back from the dead-

Sorn. It seemed like he'd been talking about the kid earlier, or . . . no. Edward Elric had. He'd said something about Franklin when Mustang had been there. It tripped the same response in his mind as it had then; something they hadn't wanted to talk about with him in the room.

Feeling more present than he had in a long time, Russell focused hard on the other man. "That's impossible."

The older man shook his head, slowly. "I thought so too, at first. It's all based on threes, the body, the mind, and the soul. I can explain the theory in more detail, but not here. This topic is . . . not wise to discuss with so many nationally certified alchemists present."

Russell remained where he was, turning the words over and over again. Well, there might actually be something to the idea of threes – threes occurred in the natural world almost as often as sevens. Three dimensions of space. Three components of an atom. Three basic chemically reactive substances. Pi.

Then again, it was ridiculous. With what he knew of the Gate, what he'd seen-

"Of course, we'd need to find Franklin to even consider trying," the man added, still speaking softly. "Please, I know you have no reason to help, but he's only a boy. Please. Just listen to what I have to say."

- x -

"Ed's not going to like this."

So he understood.

It was more of a relief than a surprise. Alphonse had always been a bit quicker with the common sense, identifying with other people more easily. It wasn't that he had a bigger heart as much as it was that he was less caution about who he let inside. He cared more easily, and he'd always been so eager to please.

Though not in this case. He was just going to be a little more subtle about it than his brother.

Pinako pursed her lips, adjusting the afghan around her legs. Alphonse twitched out of the seat to help, but she made a disapproving noise in his direction. "I'm not helpless, Alphonse. And it's none of his business. None of yours, either." She didn't say it sharply. There was no need to hurt him.

"Aunt Pinako . . ."

Once the blanket was arranged to her satisfaction she let her hand drop back to her side, running old, sure fingers over the fabric. Winry had brought it with them, sometimes she forgot how thoughtful her granddaughter could be. It wasn't Winry's handiwork, thank god; this was one her mother had made during the winter after Winry was born, and it was a very tight weave. It was enough to keep the slight chill off, at any rate, though the boy looked as if he itched to completely cocoon her in it.

"A long face doesn't suit you." It had never suited Hohenheim, either, though he'd worn it often enough.

"And a life confined to bed doesn't suit you," he retorted. "You've been making automail for almost fifty years, so I know you know what this means . . ." A expression of sudden understanding crossed his face, and she finally looked away, staring at the lump in the middle of the bed that represented her feet.

Darn, she'd gotten short. Or these narrow hospital beds had gotten longer. Been a long time since she'd been in one.

"That's why you didn't see the doctor." There was a hint of anger in his voice.

Good for him.

"Don't take that tone with me."

Winry had come to the same conclusion, though her granddaughter hadn't confronted her yet about it. She probably wouldn't. At least she had the sense to know that it wasn't her decision. The boys were so pig-headed.

"Aunt Pinako-"

"We have pain medications at the house, as good as are prescribed here." That actually wasn't true; there was something bright yellow in a small bag, hanging beside the liter of blood, and it was fantastic. It had quieted the pain to mere discomfort, and while she knew her digestive tract well enough to know she was going to pay for it later, it would make dealing with Alphonse – and Edward, he wouldn't be far behind – much easier.

She wasn't going to let them watch her die. She knew why Tricia had done it, but it didn't make the request to have the boys there any less selfish. Damn lucky her death was gentle, there were no convulsions. Heaven only knew what the boys would have done if it appeared that she'd been in any pain.

Al just looked at her. He'd always known he had power there. Power over any woman on the planet, now, not just people like her and Izumi Curtis. He'd had that power even when he'd been crammed in that armor, nothing more than red light peering back out. Now that he'd filled out, grown up-

And he had. He'd grown so much.

"Not even us?"

No, Alphonse. Not even you. "Especially not you."

He tried to put on a hurt look. "Ouch."

"It's not a question of skills, Alphonse. There are certain things that are not meant to be."

He flinched, though someone who didn't know him well wouldn't have seen it. "There are," he agreed steadily. "And this isn't one of them."

She sighed, missing the familiar weight of her pipe. It was on the bedside table, but she didn't dare reach for it. It would shift her too much, and if the pain flared up again-

Alphonse saw the glance. He saw everything, perceptive boy that he was. He picked it up for her, staring at it a moment in mild surprise before handing it over. "Don't let the doctor catch you with that thing actually lit."

She tamped down the tobacco expertly, glancing at him around the corner of her glass frames. "He won't mind." He'd learned that lesson first. Ackernath rather reminded her of her first husband, though quite a bit older and more set in his ways. He'd still been relatively easy to deal with.

Al gave her a small smile. "I'm going to have to meet this guy."

"Do it soon. We'll be leaving in a day or so."

The smile faltered into something closer to a frown. "Is it because . . . of what happened to us?"

Trust him to think that. Not that he was on the wrong track . . . She sighed, clamping the pipe in her teeth. Winry had left the windows slightly open despite the relative chill to the air, more to make the room smell less like the recumbent ward than to facilitate her pipesmoking. The sunlight was warm on the afghan, another reminder of the milder temperatures they were currently experiencing in Resembool.

It would be a shame. Fall was one of her favorite seasons, and it would have been nice to see the trees turn. She supposed if she remained here, it could happen, but then again, what was the point of watching the leaves turn through a window?

She finished tamping the tobacco, casting a coy glance at the nightstand again, and Al picked up the box of matches, striking one. She took the match with steady fingers, pulling away on the pipe as the tobacco caught. He was silent, letting her get her chance to light the pot, and once it was done she shook out the match, handing it back carefully so the cinder didn't fall on the afghan.

"Do you understand that it wouldn't be human transmutation?"

She snorted. "You'd do well to remember last year." That hadn't been human transmutation either, but it had been just the same.

He opened his mouth again, then hesitated, all the while looking at her so earnestly. "It wouldn't be like that." Then his eyes softened, and she concentrated on the pipe for a moment, letting him work through it.

They really thought they could fix anything. Winry included. No loss could be too great for automail to replace, not to her. And even death was apparently surmountable for the alchemists in her life. That spirit was to be applauded, something she'd worked long and hard to cultivate in them. But at some point, there had to be a ceiling. And a cracked pelvis was that ceiling. Perhaps alchemy really could stop the bleeding, but then what? Bones were alive, every mechanic knew it. And being bedridden for the rest of her days would kill her soon enough, internal hemorrhaging or not.

"I'm not going to be able to convince you, am I."

Smart boy.

It was going to come harder for Edward, she knew. He wouldn't understand, wouldn't even try. It was his world, so easy to risk everything over and over again. She was just a little old lady. Barely took up half the bed. It wasn't their place to bloat her value in the great scheme of things. And she wouldn't have them risking their lives, not for something like this.

Cheating death was what had gotten Hohenheim into trouble in the first place.

No, Edward wouldn't understand the line in her chart, or why her signature was beside it. There was to be no alchemical treatment. The best Central could do was drain the pooling blood from her fractured pelvic cavity into a bag by the side of the bed, and replace it with blood donated by others. It would keep her alive for a while, though eventually her kidneys would quit. Ackernath had given her a little over a month, and she was comfortable with that estimate.

She'd known it the night it had happened, when she'd lain down on her bed. She'd felt movement where there shouldn't have been any. And Al was right, she'd been in the business too long. They both knew what a cracked pelvis meant.

Though in all honesty, she'd been doing pretty well until the second fall. Dang thing might have actually healed if she hadn't. But once she exacerbated the fracture, once she found blood where blood had no business being . . . and maybe she hadn't followed as aggressive a pain management system as she should have. Certainly now it would be easier, without being allowed to move around.

Well, that wasn't quite fair. She'd seen what Winry had been sketching, before she'd sent the girl to the hotel to get some sleep. Some kind of spring-wound walking contraption. Knowing her granddaughter, she'd get it made in two weeks. Faster, if the boys helped.

Maybe she could distract Edward with that. Get them talking like people again. Though she knew Ed felt that making automail was beneath alchemists. It truly was a sad thing that Fletcher Tringum had died, and so suddenly.

"You do realize you have to sleep sometime, right?"

It was half-hearted; she was reasonably sure he wouldn't dare, but she took a deep pull on the pipe, enjoying the flavor before expelling it slowly.

"Let it be, Alphonse."

The young man beside her toyed with her chart, forgotten and dangling in his fingertips. "I'm not very good at that."

There was a lot of truth in that.

"Where's Winry?"

Speaking of sleeping . . . "I sent her to a hotel."

For the first time, Al looked slightly offended. "You know we only live about six blocks away . . . it wouldn't have been any imposition at all."

"You two needed rest as much as she did." Not that Alphonse was getting much, obviously. "Take better care of yourself, or Winry's going to try to give you a new arm."

He glanced down at the sling, and his smile was sad. "Yeah, I suppose she wouldn't have seen much of us. We spent the night at Russell's place." He paused, then shook his head. "All we did is make him feel more alone."

She recalled the man, albeit not well. As tall as Al was, blonde, with the same penchant for unruly bangs as Edward.

"I'm sure his relatives will see to him."

"He doesn't have any, I don't think." Al tilted his head a little as he thought. "His father died years ago, and . . . somehow I get the impression his mother is dead, or they don't have a close relationship. He and Fletch went to Xenotime to finish their father's research, but she didn't go along, and they were even younger than we were. Ed's a year older than Russ." He glanced down at the chart in his hands, then stood and strode to the end of her bed to replace it.

"Seems like everyone I know is an orphan," he muttered, dropping it back into its slot before looking at her. Even from the end of the bed, he was looking down, and while she was well used to it, for the first time in a long time it bothered her

Winry's strong. She'll be fine. And so will you. All of you will be.

But he continued to stare at her, his face growing more confused by the moment. She took another pull, waiting patiently for him to spit it out.

"He said his parents lived in Lior, and had a donut shop just north of the square," he announced suddenly. Then he circled back to her and bent, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I'll come back with Ed. You're not getting out of this that easy."

She accepted the token of affection, patting his good arm, and she watched him hurry out the door.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Bit of a delay, and I'm sorry about that. I tried to die. Really. Walking pneumonia and everything. :coughs pitifully: JChrys, I haven't forgotten about your pressie! Really! It's mostly done, I just need to look a couple things up in the anime real quick. So! Look! Progress! Fletcher's body is missing. Russell's been contacted by Avram Blane. And Al had a sudden epiphany. Makes you wonder what Mustang and Ed are up to . . .

Quick note – those of you who have not read Perfect After All will not get the donut shop reference. You should go back and read the first one, in that case, because the rest of the plot hinges on that donut shop. (I'm kidding. But if you haven't read the first one, I'm amazed you're still reading this one. ; )


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric to see you, sir."

Challiel was silent a moment before she cradled the elegant silver phone. "The Prime Minister will see you now."

He just nodded, never breaking stride. Luckily, the lobby Mustang's secretary oversaw was large enough that she could notify the Prime Minister of incoming officials requesting audiences and receive permission before they could actually cross to his office doors.

Of course, he wasn't really requesting an audience. And he noted she made no mention of his entourage, though Colonel Hawkeye was emerging from her office with a raised eyebrow and a slightly bemused look.

"If you'd given me Sheska I could have dispensed with the props," he muttered, and her expression collapsed into a small smile.

"I believe teaching suits you, Edward."

For once, the three officers following him weren't holding him under arrest. They were instead holding rolls of parchment, journals, reams of notes, and in one case, a large pictureframe. Edward hit the doors as the colonel joined the train following him, and it was only the knowledge he'd be run over that kept him walking once he saw who was in the office.

"Edward," the Prime Minister murmured, unflappable as always, and General Hakuro looked him up and down before turning back to whatever conversation he'd just interrupted.

Keeping his growl to himself, Ed signaled the men behind him to deposit their load on the large conference table, to the right. He proceeded directly to the Prime Minister's desk, aware of a silent presence still behind him. Probably Hawkeye.

Probably to make sure he didn't do something stupid. The two high-backed chairs in front of the Prime Minister's desk seemed a good place to plant himself between and start ranting, but he suddenly realized the other chair was also occupied, albeit by someone much smaller than the general. Thick black glasses frames stared up at him, and the anger and frustration he was just dying to lay on Mustang's desk died away completely.

"Fuery," he said instead, and felt his frown disappearing into the first genuine smile he'd had all day. The man was still pale, still just a sliver in blue, but the uniform was present. And the General was present-

"E-Edward," he started, then nervously adjusted his glasses. His hands were apparently sweating, because he hurriedly wiped them on his pants before accepting Ed's outstretched hand. "It's good to see you again."

He was still a brunette. His hair had grown back, though not as full as it had been. The military buzz did a good job of hiding that, though. The medal he'd received for Special Service to the State was pinned to his uniform coat, as well as his second lieutenant stripes. And even knowing Fuery wore the smallest possible size, he couldn't help thinking the uniform looked too big on him.

Surely they weren't discharging him . . .?

"Good to see you too," he agreed, glancing towards Mustang. "Coming back to join the rat race?"

"We were just discussing that," Roy murmured. "Please report."

Ed blinked at him, nonplussed, then turned and stared blatantly at Hakuro.

"The reason you were allowed to complete your investigation, given your current military status, Fullmetal, was due to the general's benevolence. You owe him thanks."

"I doubt benevolence had anything to do with it," he replied, in what he hoped was a civil voice. There was no point in freaking Fuery out any more than he already was, but frankly he wasn't really sure Mustang wanted him in the room either, not with what he was about to say.

"Your report, Full Metal," the general prompted mildly, when nothing else happened.

Hell no.

It must have been written all over his face, because Roy lowered his chin slightly. "Is your personal grudge more important than the safety of the country?"

Ah, there was the anger and frustration again. "I don't think a history of pointless interference should be reduced to a definition of 'personal grudge.'" But he did have a point, dammit, and after a moment Ed spun on his heels. "You need to come see this."

The party moved from the Prime Minister's desk to a cluster of chairs and a love seat gathered around a low coffee table, across from the conference table. That was fine with him; he needed the table to arrange things anyway. He noticed that Fuery was hesitating by Roy's desk, but at a look from his Prime Minister he scuttled over as well.

Well, actually, a communications expert probably wouldn't be a bad thing to have on hand.

"It's thin," he started, knowing it sounded like a disclaimer.

"I'll take thin over nothing."

Well, here went nothing. "We broke Sorn's research down into subjects. Geography, astronomy, physics, mathematics." He picked up one of the rolled parchments, unrolling it so they could see a startlingly detailed map of Amestris. "I've never seen a map of this caliber." Not on this world, at any rate.

Hawkeye stood, so Ed walked it over to her and watched her spread it out on the coffee table. "Nothing's marked," she said after a moment of careful scrutiny.

"No. And no part of the map is worn, either." He'd sort of hoped the kid had traced his destination over and over again, and they'd have found the damage. "The thing that interests me is the attention to altitude."

Roy glanced up. "Why would he need a map of this detail." There was no question he could afford it, though it must have cost tens of thousands of cenz.

"Exactly. It's out of place, unless geography is a closet hobby." That he never mentioned to anyone. "He has other maps, all detailing the plains and mountain ranges in southwestern Amestris." He handed Hawkeye two of the smaller ones. "Unfortunately, it's a pretty big area, containing eight major cities and a few dozen large towns."

"Any of them of interest?"

Ed shook his head. "No. His records state his hometown is Jannai, which is closer to the east border." He hefted up the pictureframe, though he didn't offer it to Hawkeye. "This map."

It was also in excruciating detail, as well as twenty miles of topography in every direction.

"What do you think it means?"

Ed gave the general a cool look. "Nothing more than a curiosity, by itself." He set the pictureframe back down, carefully. "It didn't really mean much until I started looking into his notes on . . . well, on my and Al's notes."

He rifled through the reams, which had been carefully gathered by subject, and started passing them around. Not that anyone was going to peruse more than a few pages. He meant to leave them with Mustang, to get a second opinion, and a third, if he ever figured out where the hell Al had gotten to.

"His interest in our notes centered on Xenotime, Liore, and Al's notes just prior to the Thule Invasion." And here was where Mustang was going to kick Hakuro out, since now they had to frankly discuss the Stone and he really, really didn't want to give the general any more ammunition than he already had on that subject.

Roy glanced up at him. "You think he's trying to transmute a gate to that world?"

Trust Mustang to make that leap immediately. And right in front of the general, who managed to quash his surprised look pretty quickly. "I initially thought that, yes." He eyed the reams of paper before indicating the one Fuery was fumbling with. "But he went back to the original Liore notes. There were also official military investigations of the Liore incident in the pile."

"Why the fixation with Liore?"

"The first notes covered Cornello's fake Stone, the second the loss of the army, and the third the advanced Thule party that arrived." That hadn't been a difficult conclusion to come to, once he'd broken it down. "All three either produced or required a powerful alchemic amplifier. Tack on Al's postulating on how much power it would take to open a Gate to another world, and the Tringum research into Red Water in Xenotime, and you have a pretty obvious pattern."

"So this is basically research into how to make a Stone." Hakuro tossed his pile of notes onto the coffee table. "We already knew that."

"It also tells us how he plans to manufacture it." Ed looked right at Roy. "Only two amplifiers proved to be useful enough to actually accomplish something. One was the Philosopher's Stone, and the other was a pair of Homunculi. There aren't any more of those lying around, but they're easier to make than a full Stone."

Hawkeye cocked her head to the side. "The chimera."

Ed nodded once. "My guess is he was playing with living things other than humans, in an effort to learn biological transmutation under the table." Or under the street, as it were. "It would explain why there was evidence that some of them had been there for a while. I think he realized that he couldn't pull off human transmutation with the Incomplete Stone he'd mined. I think the chimera were a test run."

Ed paused to let that sink in, then added, "Maybe Franklin tried to resurrect the dead chimera as well, in an effort to learn how. It wouldn't have gone well, and could explain his sickly behavior over the past month."

And those failed tests, of course, would lead to the one solution as logical as the Mechanical Alchemist. "He concluded that he'd need a full Philosopher's Stone. These notes also tell him how to make one."

Roy stared at him for a moment, and then he smiled. It was more than a little self-deprecating. "I see."

It was obvious the other members at the table hadn't made the leap. "I didn't figure it out until I considered the assassination angle. Why would Sorn try to have Mustang killed? At first I thought it was because he knew Mustang would move faster than any other official to find and take the Stone away." And he'd liked it better when that had been the prevailing theory.

"But then you realized a successful assassination would result in war," Hawkeye said suddenly. "He plans to re-enact Liore. All he needed was an army."

"I guess we should be glad he decided on an enemy one instead of ours." And that's what it really boiled down to. Franklin Sorn wasn't trying to transmute a Gate to Earth. He was trying to lure an enemy to attack Amestris herself, and use that army as ingredients for his Philosopher's Stone.

"I'm assuming that he was giving information to the assassins. It was probably why they were at his house, and why Al and I startled them so badly." Having two State Alchemists waiting for them instead of their informant probably hadn't reflected well on Franklin, come to think of it.

"Unfortunately, this map covers both the borders with Creta and Aerugo." The general frowned at it. "Minister, did Major General Armstrong have any light to shed on this attack she did not share with me?"

It was unlike Hakuro to ask so nicely, and it threw Ed for a loop. They weren't seriously working together . . . were they?

"No," he answered immediately. "We couldn't tell." He shook his head. "The framing of Drachma works to Sorn's favor. If Tolya and I hadn't reached an agreement, he'd have had his pick."

"Which is why the attempts became more hurried," Hawkeye concluded. "If Amestris was to join peace talks with Drachma, we'd withdraw the forces and attention from the north and deploy them to our other borders."

"So it's certain to be Aerugo or Creta." Hakuro gave Edward a critical look. "Any clues?"

Here he had to admit that he didn't have the answers. "That's why I said it was thin," he admitted grudgingly. "It ties a lot of the information together, but not all of it."

"Like what?"

Ed sighed, going back over to the conference room table to pick up another large ream of papers. He just held it up; they wouldn't understand it anyway. Hell, he wasn't sure he did. Math was more Al's thing. "This math is unrelated to physics. There's no way to apply it to Sorn's alchemy. He spent a significant amount of time on it. And speaking of time . . ." He held up another of the rolled parchments, showing them a beautiful representation of the night sky.

"The astronomy angle is a little odd, too. I'll buy that he was trying to make a machine that could measure the passage of time based on star charts, but some of these charts go back twelve years."

"He could be using the differences between the charts to measure the movement of the constellations over a longer stretch of time," Fuery said, quietly. It was the first time he'd contributed to the discussion, so Ed was careful to make no bigger deal of it than he had when Hawkeye or the general had interrupted.

"That's possible. The why, though. We already have accurate timepieces." Or accurate enough, anyway. "Physics can probably give us far more accurate timekeeping than astronomy anyway, since the speed at which electrons revolve is constant and measurable."

"What else."

Ed rolled up the starchart. "The piece of Craege Irving," he said finally. "He put it under his library on purpose. I think I know the day he did it, so he's had it a long time. I don't know why he would have kept it."

It wasn't a powerful amplifier, after all. It was a powerful poison, certainly. Much like uranium.

The second he had the thought, he clamped his mouth shut.

Shit.

In a way, it was _exactly_ like uranium. Surely the kid hadn't been thinking of making a bomb with it? In case his assassination plan failed, as it was starting to do?

If he did, he better have been planning to use it on enemy soil. He'd already committed treason just by giving the enemy information, and it meant a firing squad.

And that was another reason he hadn't wanted Hakuro present. Mustang might bend the rules, considering how much bending he'd done for him and Al. Hakuro wasn't going to budge. Being able to blame one of the famed State Alchemists for this plot was nothing but a boon for the man. Another reason to rip control of the alchemists from Mustang, since he obviously couldn't keep them on a leash.

Mustang was giving him a long, steady look, and he wondered how much of his realization had shown on his face. "Any other clues?"

He shook his head. "No. I can't come up with anything that would explain everything."

"Why does he want a Stone?" Fuery was studying the map, upside-down. "Do we know where he'll go if he can make one?"

"Most of his hometown died of a plague eleven years ago." Ed thought about grabbing the map again, and had to remind himself that he wasn't in a classroom. "The chimeras make me think he's thinking about human transmutation, either to create homunculi as ingredients, or because he plans to resurrect the town."

Hawkeye stared at him. "You think he wants to bring back the entire town?"

"Al does." He hadn't gone to Jannai, after all. "He said it looked like Franklin had transmuted half the town, tools for the elderly and industry alike."

Roy's lips twitched. "He certainly earned his nickname."

He didn't volunteer it, so Ed let it go. "It's all a guess at this point, but at least some of it adds up."

"Too much," Mustang agreed. "Where do you think he is now?"

And that was another problem. "I don't know. Either he thought the four were going to be successful, or –" Or there was going to be another attempt, very shortly. "Or you need to watch your back," he finished lightly.

"Or he's run out of time," Hakuro said, thoughtfully, and glanced briefly at Edward before turning to Mustang. "You and I both know an army of this size can't be gathered or deployed on such short notice, in secret, based on whether a single event has or hasn't happened."

Ed blinked. On the logistics side, actually, he was right. It probably couldn't.

"It would only take a few hours for that news to travel out of the borders," Fuery offered, a little timidly. "South City is closer to the border, and while obviously radio waves would never get that far . . . if someone were placed in the city as a relay point, a telegram could be sent over the border. Then depending on Aerugo's phone infrastructure . . . It would take longer for Creta to get the news, since West City is further in, but not that much longer."

"So they already know it failed." Hawkeye glanced back over at Mustang. "I would have assumed if they weren't going to wait for the results, we'd have lost a city by now."

Mustang was silent, his visible eye dark and calm. "Colonel, forward all intelligence reports from West and South cities to Sheska immediately. Tell her she's looking for unusual activity, including the officer's logs." He turned immediately to Hakuro. "What's the current deployment in that area?"

"Basic border patrols and standard fortification. We have several more divisions stationed in South because it's closer to the border. I can get you exact numbers in an hour. However . . ." The general hesitated, then glanced at him, and Ed narrowed his eyes in reply. About to advise the deployment of the State Alchemists, was he?

"I don't believe we should fortify those positions at this time."

Mustang leaned back in his chair, his contemplative mask slipping on effortlessly. "Keeping this from the Speaker will look like a coup, General. Particularly if I get killed." He said it very matter-of-factly, though Fuery couldn't help a little squeak.

"All due respect, Minister, don't get killed." Hakuro's tone was brisk. "Bolstering defenses in South and West will just tilt our hand. It puts off a conflict that has been brewing for over a year now, possibly to a less fortuitous time. You've damaged your position with Parliament greatly in all this, and if Sorn truly is an informant for the enemy, you've just demonstrated that you mismanaged the State Alchemists."

"He's also demonstrated that he was correct, and that attacking Drachma would have played into the hands of our enemies," Hawkeye reminded him, a light edge to her voice.

"The first assassination attempt was before he was elected. Assuming Sorn was responsible for it, as opposed to getting his ideas from it, a victory here might lend weight to a claim that Mustang knew about the threat all along and has been drawing things along in his own time."

For the second time since he'd walked in the door, Ed was stunned. Maybe someone was impersonating Hakuro? Or he was under some kind of mind control, from someone like Noah?

"How do you propose we win a war without fortifying our defensible positions, General?"

"If Fuery is right, and someone has been placed in the target city to relay news, any indication of increasing defenses is going to be immediately reported. If we perform the same maneuver in both cities, it will communicate that we know there's a threat, but we don't know from whom. I don't suggest that we completely ignore this. We need to find out which city will be attacked, and when, if possible, before we make any large-scale military decisions."

"So the main advocate for attacking before winter is now advising me to wait before deploying troops?"

The general gave him a droll look. "Circumstances have changed, Minister."

Roy snorted. "Your first understatement of the day."

"Is there any way to lay down the groundwork for moving a significant amount of troops, but making it look as though we're deploying them to Drachma?" Hawkeye said it slowly, as if she was already chewing on the logistics as she asked. "We can prepare the immediate rescheduling of the trains, for example, without actually notifying the trainyards. We can also gather supplies here in Central as well as notify the army to prepare to move."

"It would probably be passed through by any informants to our enemy, which might entice them to make their move," the general agreed, "but given that we're holding Drachma's ambassadors hostage, how do you propose we make it look like we're about to declare war on Drachma without retaliation?"

"I'll speak with Tolya," Mustang stated, as it if was the most logical answer in the world.

"And tell him that we expect to be attacked on a southern or western front, and to please not take advantage?" Hakuro scoffed. "You may have done well diplomatically with Drachma so far, but you must realize you cannot release the diplomats at this time. It would be a discrepancy an informant could detect."

"I don't have to release them to let them use a secure line. They were placed here for the purpose of aiding me in relaying messages secretly to Drachma, after all."

Hakuro looked stunned.

"Though I don't think Ambassador Agata is very fond of me right now," he admitted. "I'll have to ask one of the others. I have no plans to remove what men we have on the northern border at this time, even if we lose West or South City. I trust Armstrong's lieutenants can hold Braggs for a week without reinforcements."

"Surely you-"

"I'm not going to give him specifics." Mustang sounded affronted. "But I don't see any other alternative. If we're going to be able to mobilize our own troops on a day's notice, we have to perform the necessary logistics. It's a move that we're reasonably sure will draw the enemy out. A soldier as experienced as he is will see validity in the strategy."

"So you trust him."

Mustang looked thoughtful. "Well, he's either trustworthy, or we've lost the war," he finally said. "Letting Sorn transmute his Stone would solve the problem of the original aggressors, but if it was confirmed that Amestris well and truly had a Philosopher's Stone, we'd be fighting a war on every front we have. None of our neighbors would stand for it, promises of Parliament notwithstanding. Particularly in light of the Irving incident. I'd prefer to deal with an army of flesh and blood soldiers than a village full of homunculi."

Ed wasn't sure how much Hakuro knew about the homunculi, but he didn't protest further. There really wasn't anything to protest. If Drachma really was looking for a weakness, they'd strike as soon as West or South was attacked regardless.

It was like Europe all over again.

And all of this was about to be done based on his best guess at what Sorn was really up to.

But teaching had taught Ed a lot of things. He was often posed questions by the alchemist and physicists, and answered them on the fly. Even when he was postulating, he knew he'd applied logic to his process. He had looked the information up and down. He was sure that Sorn was going to transmute a Stone out of an army. Since all eyes were on Drachma, if he was going to use the Amestrian one, the maps would have been of the north. Too much of these notes took too long to figure. It wasn't another trap.

It was still hard to believe that an entire country was about to be risked based on his word.

"Fullmetal."

His eyes flicked away from the map to Mustang.

"Have you spoken with Russell today?"

He shook his head. "Not since this morning. Why?"

The colonel glanced at Hakuro, then answered for Mustang. "Lt. Ross called about a half-hour ago. It seems Russell Tringum is no longer in his place of residence. Can you think of anyplace he might go?"

Getting out of a house full of mourners seemed exactly like Russ's style. He could mourn on his own, would probably prefer to. And he'd go someplace Fletch had loved. "Botanical gardens." It was getting too cool for the outdoor gardens to have much left, and all the blooms would be gone. "I'm sure he'll turn back up."

"There's something else." The tone was the one Roy used when he was hiding something, and Ed sharpened his attention. "Dr. Patterson has confirmed that the remains of Fletcher Tringum currently in the morgue are, in fact, a doll."

For a brief second, Ed's brain stalled. A doll? He hadn't heard of any alchemists transmuting a doll since Shou Tucker, and that bastard was definitely dead. But if it was a doll-

"He also confirmed that they are not the same remains he examined during his initial session." His voice was quite controlled. "Given the discussion of human and biological transmutation you believe Franklin Sorn may have tried, I'd advise you to keep your eyes open."

Ed let the tiny flicker of hope fade. For a brief, beautiful second, it had been possible Fletcher was still alive. Now Mustang was telling him the next time he saw the man, he could be a homunculus. But if Franklin had transmuted Fletcher into a homunculus, he'd know that resurrection of humans wasn't possible-

Wasn't possible without a full Philosopher's Stone, at any rate. Until he'd transmuted one and given it a shot, anyway. Maybe the kid had been hoping the Incomplete Stone would be enough.

Dammit.

"Dammit."

Roy seemed to echo his sentiments. "I'll notify Alphonse that you'd like him to take a look at the information you've assembled. In the meantime, you have a train to catch."

He latched onto the distraction. "Where to?"

"To stop Sorn," Mustang drawled, standing and signaling that their meeting was at an end. "All of this is for nothing if someone doesn't stop him from transmuting that army."

Ed flicked his gaze to the general. "Even if I knew where to go, someone suspended my traveling papers."

The general gave him a dirty look. "They'll be temporarily reinstated."

Oh, of course even with their newfound cooperation the whole damn thing couldn't be wiped clean. Just a temporary reinstatement. "That doesn't help me with the first problem."

"You know he's going south or west, Fullmetal. Take the south train to Dublith, which is the last station you can grab the line west. Figure it out before then."

- x -

"Alphonse?"

Al barely glanced up, letting his fingers walk across the stacks. He couldn't lose his place now; he was more than halfway through this particular box and it had taken him almost forty-five minutes.

"Back here."

Footsteps rounded their way to him, reminding him of just how quiet it was in the Records room. He'd heard them approaching, heard every person pass by the doors. He could almost hear the conversations at the nurse's station, if he really concentrated. If not for that thick door sealing in the apothecary, he probably could have heard in there, too. It was just through the far wall.

If he thought about it too hard, it distracted him, so he didn't.

"What are you doing back here?" He caught movement in his peripheral vision, and he smiled in greeting.

"Hey, doc. Can I con you into doing me a favor?"

"I don't know," Patterson replied quietly. "Can I 'con' you into getting some rest? You should still technically be an inpatient."

"I almost feel like one, I've been here almost the whole time," he complained good-naturedly. "Seriously, though?"

Patterson came up on his right side, peering at the box. " . . . pediatric records? Do I even want to ask?"

"Well, I was thinking." If Patterson was here, it was because the nurses had told the doctor where he was. So Patterson must have been wandering the halls, or waiting for test results. Obviously he wasn't slammed.

"When I first met Sorn, it was at the Prime Minister's inauguration. Ed and I were trapped in some kind of luncheon for what seemed like years." Not that that was important. Besides, Ed had bailed to talk to Winry, and missed most of the tedious stuff. "Sorn told me we'd met before, in Liore. He said his parents owned a donut shop, and I actually remember a donut shop being there."

Patterson was quiet, apparently expecting more. " . . . and what does this have to do with Central's pediatric records?"

"Well, his parents are dead." He'd called Jannai's town hall, just to make sure. "But I think I remember the people that owned that donut shop, and I think I remember actually meeting him."

"And . . . you think that you're going to find a record of Franklin's pediatric care and their names will be on the record?"

Al blinked, then actually glanced up at the doctor. He immediately regretted it; Patterson looked . . . tired. Which was no surprise, he'd probably had the least amount of sleep of the three of them. "Geez, doc. You look terrible. I take it back. Go have a nap instead."

Patterson gave him a half-amused look. "You first. You know these things are in alphabetical order."

Al nodded, turning back to his stack. "Yes. But I doubt the record will show his last name as Sorn, because they weren't his parents."

"He lived in Jannai. Why do you think he would have had medical treatment here?"

"Two reasons, actually." He eyed the next record carefully, but the Frankie in it was a brown-headed child with hazel eyes. He was also five years too old. "Whoever replaced Fletcher's remains did so before his death was public knowledge. It was communicated to the Prime Minister through Hawkeye, and her through his secretary, and her from you. Unless whoever it was has the phones tapped, or works in the hospital, they can't have found out in time."

The doctor remained silent, so Al continued. "So I figure they had to already be here. They had to have come to the hospital and heard about it, and then made their move." Or there was some kind of alchemical fight that triggered Fletcher's heart failure, and the alchemist then waited in hiding until it was safer to move. He hated that thought; it meant the killer had probably taken refuge in this very room.

" . . . so you think Franklin Sorn replaced the body." It was a statement, not a question, but Al nodded anyway.

"I do."

He could feel the doctor's eyes on him, but he was intent on the next record. Franklin Price. Red hair, green eyes.

"I . . . know that the military is looking for him, but surely you don't really believe he had anything to do with this?"

Al pulled the record, flipping it open to read the rest. Eight years old, broken leg in two places. He was a transfer from a Dr. Pryor in Liore.

Al almost smiled. The attending doctor was a J. Ackernath. "Unfortunately, I do," he said quickly, when he realized he'd been silent for too long. "Because there was one other place I looked for this information, and I couldn't find it."

He looked up at the doctor, who was giving him a confused look. "I'm sorry, but I'm not following."

"They owned a donut shop, just north of the square in Liore. All businesses are taxed. It's how I found Franklin's sensei. Tax records in the First Library." He offered the doctor the chart, and Patterson took it slowly, flipping it open. Both his eyebrows shot up.

"Access to the First Library is restricted, and the tax records are being kept temporarily in the same area as the alchemic research, meaning it's even further restricted. Yet there are no tax records for a donut shop on the square in Liore. There's an empty folder."

"It says he was brought in by Madelyne and Dolph Price," the doctor murmured. "You think Franklin was here looking for this record?"

Al nodded. "I do."

Patterson closed the file, laying it down on an empty corner of the desk. "Alphonse, do you know how many Franklins were born in that year? There are going to be dozens of records-"

"Luckily for us, as patients grow up, they get moved out of the pediatrics records to the adults. Sorn's medical record doesn't start until he became a Nationally Certified Alchemist, so I know he wasn't here under his own name." He patted the massive box in front of him. "I know he was at least five when I met him, so I only had to look through ten years' worth of records. This is the last box."

Patterson looked slightly afraid to ask, but he did it anyway. "How many have you found so far?"

"With red hair and green eyes?" Al returned his attention to the box, flicking to the next record. "One."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: This was actually mostly written for the previous chapter, but I figured it would be too long. Except for the last little bit, so I don't feel so bad about posting it before I get JChrys' pressie finished. :hides: Still working on it! It went a little melancholy on me, so I'm trying to inject some more humor into the end so it ends on a good note. You'd think, with the amount of alcohol involved, that this would not be difficult. )

As always, posted without a beta. If you see anything amiss, please let me know! I bet I can hold the action off for chapters, still. :hides from all the disappointed readers: But think about what great action it'll be! If I ever get there.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"You've figured it out, then," he stated without preamble, gesturing to Breda.

"What would Scar do," the voice on the other end of the phone replied, and Roy Mustang fought hard to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Sorn carved an array around one of my cities?"

There was some static, or possibly it was Fullmetal's irritated breath huffing over the receiver. "Once Scar's plan reached critical mass, he disappeared. He went to the place the battle he put into motion would be fought, and carved his array. Franklin's doing the same thing."

Mustang freed his pocketwatch and flicked a glance at it as Breda came back to his desk with the map. "You've been on that train almost all day, Fullmetal, and that's all you have to tell me?"

More static. "Scar drew the array around Liore in such a way that the soldiers approaching the city didn't see it. The trenches were laid across the streets to look like gutters No one put the pieces together until it was too late."

"Much as this history lesson is intriguing, Fullmetal, are you planning to come to a point?"

"Creta." He sounded quite irritated, and Mustang grinned to himself as he studied the map.

"Why West City?"

"Not West City," Ed replied. "Sorn doesn't want to use our army, remember?"

"Have you spoken to him about his plans?"

"He's not stupid. It's too risky. I assume you still have the map I left you?"

Roy didn't respond, other than to draw the map closer, but apparently Edward could hear the frame grinding across his desk.

"I was looking over the smaller maps Sorn had with him. If you look west, you'll see the topography."

Mustang scanned the map while the major took a chair opposite his desk. "What am I looking for?"

"A place an army advancing on West City would approach without noticing an array." Edward sounded quite smug. "One of the reasons the military doesn't guard West City as closely is because there are only four avenues of attack Creta can use to approach it without encountering any Amestrian border towns. Since it's further behind the border than South, Creta couldn't get the drop on it unless they avoided the peasants between."

"This is not new information, Edward."

"So you've found the place I'm thinking of?"

Roy held back his own sigh, analyzing the landscape more closely. The routes Creta could take were well-documented with the military, and Fullmetal was actually right. As far as security was concerned, West was less fortified than South, for the very reason Ed had stated. And as for the four avenues Creta could take, only two of them had really been marked as passable by such a large army in a short amount of time. One of them took them over the wide plains, which were a bit too dry to support crops or large numbers of livestock, and the other was fairly rugged, encountering the mountain chain that fed the small rivers that ran through those plains.

It would probably be easy to hide an array in the mountainous region, but incredibly hard to cut it into the rock. Unless, of course, he used alchemy to create the array. But it would also be more likely that the army would spread out over the mountains, since the paths there were only meant for small cart animals. It would have to be a much larger array to guarantee that the vast majority of the attacking army was within the array before transmuting, and the larger the array, the harder the transmutation.

The plains would be much easier, but then again, a giant circle cut into the grass would be terribly evident. So even if the army was moving together as a unit, and the array could be much smaller, having that many people trouping over that kind of land would mean the array would have to be cut quite deep, and it would be recognizable-

"I'll take that as a no," Ed continued. "The plains. They're coming via the plains."

"Why are you so certain?"

"Look where they narrow as they approach the steppes," Professor Elric instructed. He probably didn't even know he was using his lecturing tone. "Not only will the army be in tighter quarters, but look at what the land is doing."

The altitude indicated a downward slope, which was good if they were bringing any war engines with them-

Which also meant they'd be walking down the array, and much less likely to notice it through the grass than if the land was flat or sloped up.

Roy's gaze flickered down towards the south. Was there any such place of strategic import there?

But Ed was already ahead of him. "There's no place nearly as convenient near South. Gotten any reports of AWOL patrols in West?"

He sighed, lightly. "Actually, Sheska found some rather interesting orders given in West City recently."

A train whistle blew in the background of the phone, and Ed waited for it to die before he spoke again. "Really."

Roy picked up the memo. "It seems a Colonel Veiss ordered a fire drill for this upcoming week. Several regiments from South and Central were ordered to West to participate."

For a moment, Mustang wondered if the line had been dropped. "A fire drill."

"The drill is designed to help train military personnel how to respond should a grassfire threaten crops and towns, and how to handle the influx of citizens into West."

"Oh." Ed sounded much less skeptical. "Wait, are you saying we don't do those kinds of drills?"

"The military prepares for all manner of natural disasters, as you would have known if you'd bothered with boot camp." He let the memo slip back to the desk. "And they are normally scheduled around this time of year."

"So what's the problem?"

"The State Military currently does not have any records of a Colonel Veiss serving. The memo is dated two days ago."

" . . . Sheska has all serving members of the military memorized?" He sounded slightly stunned.

"Just the officers, apparently." It was still personnel in the thousands, and it was still impressive.

"So you're saying Franklin sent that memo, to get reinforcements secretly to West?"

Mustang drew in a deep breath, relaxing further into his chair as his office doors opened. He nodded once to Hawkeye, who stepped aside to allow a tottering, bent old woman to enter his offices. She was almost buried under a pile of clothes.

"It certainly looks that way," he allowed. "If you're correct in assuming Sorn means to transmute the Cretian army prior to their arrival at West, perhaps this was his guarantee against failure."

"Will it be enough?" Edward always was quick to pick up on such things.

Probably not against the numbers that Creta would throw at them if they truly thought they could take West City. It added half again the men, but that was still only about a thousand. One thousand men against a probable force of at least six thousand.

And if they had chosen the plains rather than the mountains, it was more likely a fighting force of ten thousand or more. Enough to fortify West against Amestris' first counterattack while more forces were moved in to relieve them.

The line was silent for several moments, and Roy lowered his voice as Hawkeye and Breda moved to assist the elderly woman. "I'll take care of West, Fullmetal."

He clearly heard a snort. "Tolya actually went for it?"

"He seems to be biding his time, for now."

Another pause. "I'm going to need some money wired to West."

"Enjoying your freedom?"

Edward snorted again. "When I get back, tell that bastard Hakuro his temporary papers had me questioned at every freakin' station. I'm amazed I got the Dublith at all."

It was unlike Edward to complain about something so trite, and after a moment his voice became more serious. "Will you or won't you?"

He knew what Fullmetal was really asking. Franklin Sorn was young, almost as young as Edward when he'd disobeyed a direct order and gone against the military. However, nothing Edward had done was even close to this public, nor this readily dangerous to the population at large. If Franklin was taken into custody by the Amestrian military, he would be brought back to Central and put on trial. And found guilty.

And there wouldn't be much clemency for someone who had tried to assassinate the Prime Minister, no matter his reasons.

Giving him some money, as his State accounts had already been frozen, and letting him go would be the only way Edward could save him. And clearly he wanted the option. Even though Sorn might be responsible for Fletcher's death. Or worse, his resurrection.

"Russell Tringum is still unaccounted for," Roy replied.

More silence.

"Sorn worked a long time for this," he continued into that silence. "He may also have an amplifier."

"I know," Edward answered in a low voice. "Mustang-" But then he stopped.

"Whatever you do, do not engage the Cretian military." It should go without saying, but he knew full well who he was talking to. "Leave West City to me."

The seconds ticked by, and he heard another train whistle. "That's my ride," Edward said suddenly, in clipped tones. "Are those your orders, sir?"

"If you'd prefer, I will assign someone to replace you."

When Fullmetal responded, his voice was icy. "You keep Al the hell away from this."

Roy blinked, slightly taken aback by the ferocity. "Alphonse has confirmed your suspicions and is currently looking for places a human transmutation could have occurred in Central." No one else on the planet would have interpreted that as an apology or a promise, but it was both, and Edward would figure it out eventually. "Alex Armstrong would be especially suited to disrupting an array like the one you expect to find, however."

"That won't be necessary." Ed didn't sound mollified in the slightest. Then again, he probably wasn't happy that Mustang had sent his brother off to find and possibly have to deal with a homunculus. "You forget who you're talking to?"

Something about his tone wasn't quite right, and Mustang knew it was probably already too late as he shouted into the phone. "Fullmetal!"

But it was already clicking down. Even if Ed had heard him, he'd be ignoring him at this point.

Mustang held the phone a moment, just to make sure it was well and truly disconnected, and then he replaced it calmly. Breda was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, and Hawkeye with a slightly disapproving look. He had to resist the urge to shrug at her.

But he didn't miss her point. Just because he still _could_ manipulate Edward didn't mean he should. There just wasn't much help for it.

He couldn't let it be traced back that Edward had given Sorn State money. They were both alchemists, after all; if Sorn was willing to commit treason there was no reason he wouldn't be willing to transmute gold. Edward would still stop him, because he knew better than almost anyone that Amestris couldn't afford to suffer another Stone. He would also prevent them from being captured by the Cretians, because Sorn was in nearly as much danger from them as he was from his own country. If Creta realized he'd sent orders to fortify West, as paltry as they were, he would be branded a spy and killed.

Now Edward would do the only thing he could. He would stop the Stone from being transmuted, get them out, and make Sorn disappear.

But what he couldn't do was protect West City. That was up to them.

"Colonel, if you would please summon Major General Armstrong," he said mildly, and she saluted immediately and left.

The major was looking at him a little curiously, and Mustang quirked an eyebrow. "You'll be receiving your orders momentarily, Major. Please have a seat."

He did as he was asked, sending a fearful glance back at the ancient woman, who was looking him up and down quite openly.

- x -

If there could have been an anti-Avrim Blane, he thought with amusement, this gentleman surely would be him.

The squat, wiry, decidedly older man fixed him with a flat, unfriendly stare, door only half-ajar. He didn't really need to speak, though; his wife was doing a splendid job on his behalf.

"- on the door at all hours of the morning, doesn't anyone know we don't keep baker's hours anymore-"

Well, at least he had the right place.

Which was the doorstep of a humble, handsome house just four miles outside downtown Central. The mailbox at the sidewalk had recently had a fresh coat of bright yellow paint, and it proclaimed the residence to be the Price's. He expected he was looking at Dolph Price himself, but try as he might, he couldn't put that sour face with any memories he had, as armor or boy.

"Mr. Price?" Alphonse Elric tried in a respectful voice.

He wasn't sure the old man was even blinking.

"-inconsiderate bounty hunters, figured we'd gotten away from them when we moved from Liore-"

The old man had him pinned with uncompromising dull brown eyes, a far darker color than his own, but Al soon decided there was far more to this man than it appeared when he finally twisted his lips and spoke.

"Edward Elric's brother," he ground. "Honey glazed."

Al blinked at him in surprise. "Er, that's right-"

The door didn't move so much as a centimeter in either direction despite the revelation. "Same preference as your brother," the old baker continued in a completely expressionless voice. "You never tried anything else."

"I wasn't in Liore that long . . ." he faltered, and he was suddenly conscious of the fact that he'd shrunk away from the man's disapproval. He straightened his spine at once. "Mr. Price, I'd like to speak with you and your wife a moment if I could."

The man grunted. "Shop's closed."

"It's about Franklin Sorn."

The door slammed in his face.

Not that it blocked out Mrs. Price, still ranting. He couldn't make out the words as easily, but it proved the door could be shouted through. "He's in trouble," Al continued loudly at the pleasantly weathered door. _More trouble than he realizes_. "Please, I need your help."

The door stayed resolutely shut.

He thought about mentioning it was life and death, but that seemed an overly dramatic thing to shout at a door. He could always assure them he wasn't a bounty hunter, but what would have made them think it in the first place-

Al closed his eyes. The newspapers. Hakuro had released the photo to the general public and a reward for information. Which meant he really _had_ come to the right place. This, at least, wasn't a lie. Franklin really had known them, and they him.

"He's going to be killed," Al finally announced, hoping his voice wasn't carrying over the walls to the Price's neighbors. They really would be bothered by bounty hunters if it got out that they had a connection to the boy. "Please."

The ranting had stopped, but it was a long time before the door opened, and Al got the impression that Dolph hadn't ever moved away from it. The wood opened the same amount, showed the same face.

Mr. Price glared at him for a moment. "What's he done?"

Again, Alphonse felt pinned by the look. It was hard to remember he wasn't still a child when this man was staring at him. "Biological transmutation," he answered in a much quieter tone, watching the old face for some reaction. When he didn't get one, he still wasn't sure the old man didn't know what he was referring to. "He's about to do something very dangerous, and it won't end well for him or anyone else."

Mr. Price glared at him a moment more - and then the door opened. "Edward Elric's brother better not be a liar," he growled as he did it, and Al felt his heart sink.

"Thank you, sir," is all he said, and he found himself being allowed into a cozy hallway that led into an equally comfortable sitting room. There, in a worn but serviceable recliner, under three quarters of a fully made quilt, sat a painfully familiar old woman, her face heavily creased from smiles, winding her needle expertly through the fabric.

He was also surprised to find that she hadn't, in fact, stopped ranting. She'd just gotten quieter about it. "-the poor boy alone, he's been through enough and I'll bet fifteen sacks that nothing good will come of this-" Then she seemed to see his shadow, and looked up briefly before coming back for a second round.

". . . Alphonse Elric," she said slowly. "Honey glazed."

"Alphonse," the old man repeated. "That's right. Seems to me you were the boy that always wore that armor."

Al smiled brightly at the old woman, but despite her recognizing him, she didn't return the pleasant look.

"Don't you grin at me, boy," she told him in a very loud, stern voice. "You won't find nothing soft and sweet in _this_ house!"

"She's a little deaf," Mr. Price grumbled, "so you'll need to speak up."

Well, that explained a lot.

Al nodded and let himself look a little more serious. They did recognize him, and he recognized her, but - maybe if the old man smiled. Clearly they all knew each other. "I need to find Franklin," he started firmly, without preamble. "Do you know where he is?"

She glared daggers at him a moment, then ignored him utterly and went back to her quilt. Her voice, when she spoke, was still just as loud as before. "Even if I did I wouldn't tell you."

"Maddie, he said the boy's in trouble."

"I know that!" She didn't look up at her husband, either. "I'm not deaf!"

Al pressed his lips together and gave Dolph a slightly sympathetic look. "We think Franklin is going to try forbidden alchemy."

"Well, of course you think that. Then you could arrest him or some such nonsense!"

"He's one of my pupils," Al snapped, completely before he could help himself. "I'm only worried about his well-being, nothing else." He said the second more softly, but she'd already responded to his previous tone, and her mouth was opening wide to let him have it-

And then she stopped, and cocked her head to the side. "You were a sweet little boy," she finally said, in a much softer voice. _To herself_, Al realized. She didn't know she was speaking aloud, or loudly enough for anyone to hear.

"We can't help you," she finally declared, and went back to her quilt dismissively.

Al stared at her a moment, then turned to Dolph. But he was shaking his head. "You heard my wife." He was stumping back towards the hall, and Al glanced between the two of them unhappily.

"Please, even if you don't know where he is, can you at least tell me where he might go?"

She ignored him utterly, and Mr. Price was giving him a hard look. "You'd best be on your way now."

"He's trying to protect you," Al tried one last time, making his tone cooler. He hated to manipulate people, especially ones he knew, but this couple obviously had more information than they were going to share with him. "He stole your tax records from State archives. Do you know how I found you?"

The needle kept flickering steadily. In, out. In, out. Mr. Price was silent.

"He tried to steal his medical records," Al continued. "Central Hospital still had the record from when he broke his leg, and you two had to bring him here for treatment."

The needle kept flicking. Mr. Price kept staring at him, but eventually his shoulders dropped slightly. "Stupid boy," he finally grumbled, and Al honestly wasn't sure who he was talking about. "It was a bad break, too."

"The trip here was even worse," Madelyne murmured, to herself though both of them could hear. "Liore doctors had set the bone, but every time the train jostled him he'd cry, the poor thing." Her face was troubled, and the needle was slowing.

"I've never noticed him limping," Al observed, loudly enough that Madelyne could hear him. "You must have gotten him here right away. Why did you go to such trouble for one Rose's orphans?"

"He wasn't one of Rose's orphans," Maddie answered sharply, and he had her eyes again. "She just kept an eye on him is all, and a good thing too! All alone in a city like Liore . . ."

Al blinked. "Wasn't Avram Blane with him, at least some of the time?" After all, he's said they'd traveled to Liore to complete research, and while it wouldn't have been odd to have found Franklin studying on his own and playing with Rose's kids, it wasn't as though he was totally alone there.

Madelyne flinched, and Al saw bright drop of blood on her finger as she raised it to inspect it. Mr. Price answered for her.

"You mean that good for nothing charlatan?" The old baker actually took a step towards him. "Did he send you here?"

Al turned to more fully face Dolph, letting his confusion show. "No." And even if Blane was looking, Al doubted any bounty hunters would find the Prices. Not unless Mustang gave the information to Hakuro. "What do you mean, charlatan? Wasn't Blane Franklin's alchemy teacher?"

Dolph looked like he was having an aneurism. His lips were pulled tight, exposing an incomplete set of teeth, and his eyes finally held something - anger. "He was Franklin's treachery teacher," he snarled. "That leech clung to that poor boy like a drowning man clings to a rope. He did nothing but smother and twist Frankie until he practically didn't know up from down!"

"Avram Blane is a demon, Alphonse Elric," Maddie agreed darkly, studying the droplet of blood on her finger intently. "Anything he gets ahold of, he bleeds the life right out of it. When we met Frank, he had already forgotten how to be a child. I expect you know about that," she added softly, to herself.

Al just looked between the two of them. Jannai had revered him, Franklin had clearly been in communication with him, so there hadn't been a falling out . . . but then, what was Franklin doing in Liore by himself all those years ago?

"Do you know how he came to be in Liore?"

"He was studying, like you and your brother," Dolph finally supplied, in a far more civil tone. As if something had just changed completely. "Studying for that monster, turned out."

Maddie had popped her finger into her mouth, but was still glaring daggers at nothing in particular, so Al turned more fully to face Dolph. "Do you know what he was studying?"

The old man shook his head regretfully. "Nah. Didn't make much sense to a pair of bakers. But that was good, too. We almost taught him how to slow down, before . . ." He huffed in frustration. "Guess it doesn't matter anymore. We did as right by that boy as we could."

They were old, clearly retired, and suddenly Al wondered if maybe Franklin really had been protecting them, and not himself. Maybe he'd really been there to make sure these two people, people he'd referred to as 'parents,' would be spared visits from people like him.

Or worse.

"I don't doubt that," Al agreed. "He spoke of you as his parents."

The old man's face lit up, just a little. "He did love, in his own way. Even at his worst . . ." But then the happy look left him, and Mr. Price was old and angry. "Loved his own parents. Never spoke of it, but you could see it all over him. That's why he played with Rose's kids, you know. When they could force him into it."

"He wanted so badly to prove he was independent," Madelyne supplied, when it was clear Al hadn't followed. "Blane got him right after his parents died, and after their fight, all Frankie wanted to be was the boy who could take care of himself. Even with that leg, he wouldn't go to the doctor. Good thing his doctor here in Central was such an ass," she added loudly. "Two peas in a pod. Did a right job with him, though."

But Al had already let the laugh slip out. "My . . . guardian, I guess you could say, she's one of Ackernath's patients too. And I know what you mean."

Madelyn's expression softened a bit. "Can you really help him?"

She knew they weren't talking about Ackernath. "Yes." He knew Ed was already on his way to stop Franklin, and if anyone could do it before Franklin did something incredibly stupid, it would be nii-san. Talk about peas in a pod. "I guess you could say my brother and I have been in . . . well, in his situation before."

"I was always glad about that," Maddie told him, quietly, but this time he was sure she meant for him to hear. "That you came back. That you actually got to eat one of the donuts you bought."

Al was stunned, but only for a moment. Of course, she was just north of the plaza, she would have seen that his armored form had bought the back only to give the entire thing to his brother. "Oh, it wasn't like that. Ed was just hungry a lot, you know-"

"You could tell that by looking at him," Dolph muttered. "Haven't seen him since he got back, but you filled out all right. Imagine he's about the same."

"He's good," Al agreed, then took a deep breath. "Do you know where Franklin might have gone?"

The Prices exchanged a look, then Madelyne frowned. "You should ask Avram Blane."

Al cocked his head to the side, but Dolph didn't offer any more information, so Al tried again. "I did, actually. He said he had no idea, and that Franklin had missed sending him a letter-"

"You mean a report," Dolph snarled. "Still has him under his thumb." The old man gestured for Al to sit, so he did, taking a spot on an old navy love seat. Dolph remained standing.

"When we met Frankie, he'd just had a row with Blane. Figured out the man was no good, or at least we'd hoped he had." His voice was dark. "He was hungry. Like your brother. And we couldn't ever have kids of our own. Which was fine, ownin' a sweetshop meant we got to borrow everyone else's. But Frankie didn't really want Rose's help, so we fooled him into accepting ours."

Al could see how easy it would have been. A hot donut was pretty much the best comfort food he could think of, and Franklin had been young indeed when he'd been in Liore.

As young as they'd been, and Al still remembered that donut shop.

"He'd come to Liore, we thought to work on his own research, but it turned out he was trying to get back into that bastard's good graces. He left Liore as soon as he'd found something he knew Blane had been looking for for a long time, figured it would be enough to buy his love. As if he ever had it in the first place."

Madelyne had turned back to her quilting, the needling flicking expertly once more. Her expression was unreadable.

"We didn't hear from him in a long time. Figured he'd forgotten about us, or we'd just been like a book to the kid. When we retired and closed up shop, though, we found the house being packed one day. I let 'em have it, until one of the workmen handed my wife a letter. It was from Franklin. He'd bought us this house, wanted us out of the hot and the dry. Said it wasn't good for our hands."

He jerked his chin at his wife. "He was right. She ain't been able to quilt in, oh, fifteen years. After you spend a life beating dough there ain't much left." He held up his own hands, knotted and discolored with age. "That quilt she's making, it's for him."

Al looked back at Madelyne, who was pointedly ignoring them.

"It's good to hear that he called us kin," Dolph finally continued. "Like I said, he loves in his own way. Difficult, but he's not a bad kid."

Al fought to dredge up a smile, unspeakably glad he hadn't told them what else Franklin was wanted for. The old folks might be bad judges of character, considering they hated Blane and thought Sorn walked on water, but they'd certainly gotten him and Ed nailed, and for some reason he trusted them. It was hard not to. They wore their hearts on their sleeves, too old and too impatient to lie or dress up the truth.

In fact, they rather reminded him of Pinako.

"Did you ever meet Blane?"

"Once," Madelyne didn't look up from the quilt. "It was enough. Didn't you say you'd met him as well, Alphonse?"

Al felt his eyebrows crawling for his hairline. "Er, yes ma'am-"

"Then you know," she said simply. "I wouldn't mind not knowing where the boy's run off to, as long as he really doesn't either."

Al felt his heart sink again. "You really have no idea?"

Dolph shook his head. "We haven't heard from him after we moved. I know he knows where we live," he added with a grumble. "But it's enough to have this place. Woulda thought the boy had put it together himself, how close it matches the picture."

Al gave him a politely puzzled look, and Dolph gestured that he follow him. "Need a drink of water before you're off?"

That was a more polite dismissal. "Ah, no, thank you. It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Price," he added, and this time she didn't roll her eyes at his smile.

"Next time try the truth," she warned him instead, shaking the quilting needle at him. "We've been in the people business all our lives. You trust me when I tell you he's a good kid."

Al found himself nodding before he even digested her words, and this seemed to placate her. "Tell your brother to stop by. Now that my hands are feeling better, I think I could reward friends of Franklin with a batch or two."

He so promised, and was then led into a kitchen that was undoubtedly a baker's dream. Long, deep granite counters stretched completely around the room, as well as an island large enough for two adults to sleep comfortably. On the wall by the generous kitchen table was a small picture in an old, whitewashed frame, and Al was shocked to see the pleasantly weathered door in the center of the picture, attached to the house that might as well have been a photograph from outside.

"Neighbors say the thing has been standing here for thirty years," Dolph stated, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. "But my Maddie painted this picture when she was just a girl. If we'd known Franklin thirty years ago, I'd have sworn that boy had made every timber in the place." The old man crossed his arms, swapping the toothpick from his right to his left.

"Then again, the neighbors got a good thing going on, living next to bakers. Maybe they're just telling us what Frankie told 'em to."

- x -

It was beautiful.

He and Al had been through here before, on their way to Creta, actually, many years ago. Europe didn't really have plains like this, though apparently the United States and Africa did, and watching the golden green stalks dance, he might as well have been in the center of the ocean. Constantly in motion, and that motion seemed to be the most natural thing in the world, yet completely unpredictable.

In fact, even from this angle, it was hard to see. If he'd been approaching from the west, it would have been completely invisible.

Edward Elric glanced around, letting the vehicle idle. It was just light, and if the grass hid the array that well, it wouldn't have a lot of trouble hiding Sorn. He had clearly been here, as the array was, near as Ed could tell, completed. Maybe he'd headed back towards West for a break, or because the army had been delayed again.

In fact, Ed reflected, there was no guarantee the army was going to be arriving until the next assassination attempt on Mustang. Unless Hakuro was right, and they were out of time.

The idea of the general being right chafed him, and he turned off the engine, opening the creaking door and stepping out into the early morning chill. He was going to have to stop chaining together so many sleepless nights, he decided, wrapping his coat more tightly around himself. The cold was biting though he knew it was upper fifties at least, and his shoulder was aching in complaint.

Hell, he'd figured that was going to go away with the automail. Pity he'd let Irving get him like that.

"Sorn!" he called. There was no reason to sneak up on the kid. In fact, he was pretty sure driving up had announced him, but it wouldn't hurt to be civil. "You missed class! What gives?"

Just the rustling grass, so soft but so numerous that rat chimera could have been sneaking up on him and he'd have never heard it coming. Edward frowned, but decided there was nothing else for it, and he hopped onto the hood of the car, and from there to the roof.

It wasn't because he was short, he told himself. It was just to get a better look at the array.

A few moments' study found the first point, and from there he was able to calculate the others. Six points . . . so a traditional human transmutation circle. The same one the homunculi had been offering. Seeing as he had first-hand knowledge of Pride reaching out from the grave, was it possible . . .?

But when? He was in Liore, but it was long after the homunculus were gone. It wasn't in their notes . . . just like the chimera, he couldn't have come up with this himself.

He was pretty fucking smart, Ed allowed, hopping back onto the hood before reaching the ground. But he hadn't seen the Gate. He didn't have that leg up that he and Al had. Much more likely that he had help. After this was over, he was going to have to look up this Blane fellow. Al was more accepting and more gentle, so he was more likely to be fooled. Psiren was evidence of that.

Then again, Noah . . .

Ed growled to himself, and surveyed the landscape again. He hadn't seen a Franklin-shaped lump anywhere, but that didn't mean much. He'd be almost invisible in the grass himself, and he was taller. Besides, if he wasn't here now, he certainly would be when the army was due. Ed toyed with leaving the array as it was, but then tossed the idea. There was a chance, if he had to run back to town for supplies, that they'd miss each other in the passing.

Besides, there was grass. Grass meant he could transmute some bread if he had to.

He eyed the array another moment, memorizing it, then clapped his hands. He could always put it back, if he needed to make Franklin think no one was on to him. But this was the only perfect spot, it would be more likely that Franklin had already made an array that would carve this for him -

The ground erupted at his feet, and Edward got a glimpse of what looked like a giant rock bear-trap before his prepared transmutation hit it. The ground was the ground - instead of flattening the array it flattened the teeth only a few inches from closing around his waist.

Shit. It would have bitten him in half.

"You want to talk about this first?" he bellowed, preparing another transmutation. He didn't want to get into an alchemical battle here, nor with Franklin, particularly not if he had incomplete Stone. Talk was preferable. The kid was brilliant, and it would be far more constructive to punch holes in this theories than to punch holes in _him._

"No time," a voice said, from behind his car, and Ed whirled to see Franklin Sorn there, watching him over the hood. "Besides, it's not like you're going to remember it."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: HAHAH!! I return, after a long hiatus, and I leave you . . . at the action without having any! Nor have I gotten JChrys her pressie yet:hides in the grass and waits for the velociraptors: But it's a long chapter? And you know that I actually can't put off the action any longer at this point. That should buy me some time.

JChrys! I haven't forgotten about you. Life happened, as it occasionally does. You should be getting your pressie tonight for review!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"I explained everything completely, she made her own decision."

Al gave the doctor an unamused look before wearily accepting the offered seat on the edge of the examination table. He bowed his head, starting to slip the sling off as Dr. Patterson hurried forward to help, and his right hand was lightly swatted.

"Your neck," the doctor reminded him, almost in a pained voice. "It's miracle enough you didn't break it. Leggo."

Alphonse released the sling without argument, loosening his collar instead as the thick cotton strap supporting his left arm was gently pulled over his head. "If I was going to yell about it, I've have done it earlier," he finally pointed out, straightening and unbuttoning his shirt one-handed. "You can expect nii-san will. Sometimes I think you confuse the two of us."

He was, of course, not talking about his neck.

"Sometimes there's a good reason to," the doctor retorted, staring at his shoulder in such a pointed manner Al finally rolled his eyes, readjusting his left arm in his lap.

Okay, so maybe he _was_ behaving a bit like his older brother. "I've only put it in the sling when I've been walking around-"

"Which has been every waking second you've had since you fell," Patterson finished, folding the sling and plopping it down beside him on the table. "I expected better of you, Alphonse."

He scowled half-heartedly at the doc as he circled behind him, rubbed his hands together to warm them, then slipped Al's shirt off his left shoulder and gently examined the swollen joint. Despite the doctor's care, Al still hissed. It hurt much worse now than it had when he'd first woken, and it was extremely swollen. It still moved, though he couldn't support any weight with his left arm, and the idea of having to fight with it was enough to make him want to chew the rest of the pain pills he'd been given on the spot.

There was a difference right there. Ed was a hell of a lot better with pain than he was.

Having pain, being a pain-

"I expected you to bring it up earlier," Patterson continued, from somewhere over his left shoulder.

Al shook his head, stopping when two hands gently trapped his skull.

"Stop. Moving your neck."

"It's fine, honest. Hasn't been bothering me-" He yelped as two fingers bore down into the joint of his neck and his left shoulder. "Until now!"

"You probably haven't noticed because of those nice little red pills I gave you," the doctor corrected him, slowly massaging out the tension he'd just caused. "That doesn't mean there's still not an injury there."

Al hmphed. That was probably true. They were the only thing that was letting him function as a normal human being. He never recalled seeing Ed with them, which meant they were probably pretty tame painkillers in comparison with what nii-san was usually prescribed, but they didn't make him tired.

"Let me guess. Something you designed in med school."

"Nope. A commercially available muscle relaxer, for once. You didn't qualify for the good stuff this time."

Al almost smiled. "Is that a good thing?"

"Most definitely."

The doctor worked his way slowly across his back, and Al let his head droop forward a little. It hurt, but in a good way of tense muscles relaxing. It reminded him a little of Sig, mashing the knots out of him the second time he'd trained with sensei.

Except Sig's hands were easily twice as big as Patterson's, so it didn't take him half as long.

"You're not going to ask?"

Al remembered this time not to shake his head. "Nope." No point. "I read her chart." Patterson tugged on his left arm slightly, and Al obligingly shifted it out of his lap onto the table. "Surgery to pin her hip is too invasive."

"The odds are especially bad, in her case," Patterson admitted, moving back towards the left shoulder. "Forty percent survival rate, and actually regaining mobility is in the tens."

"I know." It would have been a hell of a lot better if she'd just been seen immediately, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Her health had declined enough in the weeks she'd put it off that she was significantly weaker than she would have otherwise been. And with the internal bleeding already present, cutting into her would put too much strain on her heart.

Alchemically, of course, they could bind the calcium back together, but the bone was alive. They could always steal surface calcium and just coat over the bone, but a hip bone bore a significant amount of weight, and calcium wasn't steel. It wouldn't last.

Pinako was right. Repairing her with alchemy was close to human transmutation. Probably was, he allowed. Saying it was close to human transmutation was like saying someone bearing a fully fertilized egg for a couple weeks was close to pregnancy. That said, he was pretty sure multiple treatments of layering calcium into the fissures, letting them heal, and layering over that would be the best fix. It wasn't human transmutation, but it would take weeks of repeated treatments.

And without seeing what you were doing, it was just about impossible. It was something no specialist in healing alchemy would dare to say would work.

It was something that probably was at the very edge of what the Tringums could do. Only there weren't Tringums anymore. There was just one, and he was as invisible as Franklin Sorn.

"I guess this is a rather dumb thing to ask, but are you going to respect her wishes?"

Al sighed lightly, letting his head dip lower as the doctor released a knot he hadn't know he had. " . . . yes."

"Will Edward?"

Now there was a ten million cenz question. "You'd have to ask him."

"I'm not that stupid," the doctor chided him. "Besides, I don't know that he'd honestly answer."

"He wouldn't honestly know." Could they watch Pinako go like they had their mother? Back then, there was nothing they could do. Now . . .

No one could bring back the dead, but she wasn't dead. Not yet. That was how Ed was going to look at it.

"Speaking of which, is there any hope that I'll be allowed to complete a follow-up before he's entirely healed?"

Probably not. Considering Mustang had sent him out to survey likely places to transmute a Philosopher's Stone in Amestris, it was either going to take him weeks, or he was going to find the right place and rack up a new list of ailments. "Depends if any new injuries he gets aggravate the old ones."

Patterson apparently had him where he wanted him, because he suddenly raised Al's left arm almost perpendicular to his shoulder. Al yelped again, but luckily he hadn't tensed, and Patterson stopped where he was, supporting the full weight of the limb.

"Relax-"

"I'm trying." If it was through gritted teeth, Patterson would forgive him the mutter.

"How about you? Are your clandestine missions for the security of our country finally finished?"

The doctor poked him in the spine in an effort to force it to relax, and Al let his breath out slowly. "No, you can't re-admit me as an inpatient."

The doc chuckled. "It was worth a try. I take it that means you were successful in getting a lead?"

Al let his jaw relax as the doctor ever so slowly worked his way around the shoulder with an expert hand. "No. They really were his guardians, but they haven't seen him in a long time."

The doctor hummed, angling the arm ever so slightly higher. Al almost turned his head to watch, but remembered at the last second, and he felt a sudden pinching deep in the muscles of his shoulder. The doctor angled the arm just a bit further, and it eased off as suddenly as it had come. "Sorry about that. So . . . no help, then?"

The doctor lowered his arm slowly, and Al was surprised to find the pain was significantly less. "Wow. And no, none." Patterson didn't really know Blane, so there was no point in telling him what they'd said regarding the 'hero' of Jannai. But it still bothered him that Madelyne Price had so firmly believed that he would have gotten the same impression of the man that she did. Which he hadn't.

"Better?"

"Yeah, lots. What'd you do?"

Patterson looped back around to the front, bracing a hand on his shoulder and picking up his left arm by the elbow. "The sling isn't taking the full weight of the limb off your shoulder. You're hiking it up and keeping it tense. And that is why-" and he slowly elevated the elbow "-you should still be in a bed instead of wandering the streets."

Al tried to relax as the doctor put his arm through extremely mild physical therapy. Slight rotations, nothing too demanding. He knew wandering around with the weight of his arm dangling from the pulled and torn muscles wasn't good for it, and the doc had a good point - he'd be screaming at nii-san right now if their roles were reversed.

But unlike his brother, he had a good reason to be wandering around. Russell Tringum was well and truly missing. The body of Fletcher Tringum was still at large. And it was fully possible that an array for creating homunculi - a human transmutation circle - was ready or had already been used somewhere in the city.

He'd already checked out the city below Central, briefly, which always had a guard posted ever since the last invasion. Mustang apparently didn't see any need to take that particular pacifier from Parliament, probably because it was so cheap to do, and the guy hadn't seen or heard anything. And he would have. The remains of Lab Five were slowly being excavated, and he knew that was being overseen by Hakuro and Armstrong. Alex would have contacted them by now if they'd found another tunnel.

And, as Ed had so eloquently said, he wasn't going to find it in a hospital room.

"Sorry, doc. Too much to do."

"You don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to do any of it."

Al dipped his head - slightly - in acknowledgement. "I know. It's just . . ." It occurred to him that Patterson might not actually know. "Russ sort of took off."

The doctor continued what he was doing, but he didn't look happy. "Define 'took off'."

Al grimaced. "Maria took her eyes off him for a few hours and he left the house. He hasn't been back yet."

Patterson took a deep breath and held it a long time before he released it through his teeth. "I thought Mustang was keeping an eye on him-"

"He was. He tried," Al said quickly. "He just . . . walked out of the house, while guests and everyone else was there. No one really noticed, we thought he'd be back."

Patterson finally released Al's arm, putting it back gently in his lap. "Dammit," he finally swore. "Do you think-"

That he somehow had found his brother's body? Or found the alchemist that was working with Franklin Sorn in the hopes of getting some Incomplete Stone? A new thought occurred to Al, and he closed his eyes as it developed. Or he was going to find Sorn and let him transmute the Stone, if only to steal it so he could bring his brother back.

Russell had been on Mustang's list for some reason, after all. He had no doubt it had nothing to do with the assassination attempts or the chimera, but it did hint that Russ wasn't flying as straight and true as he appeared. If push came to shove, if a Stone was presented to him, or even just the opportunity to make one -

"I think he's in a lot of pain, and we need to find him and help him," Al answered. "If that means my shoulder hurts, that's fine with me."

The doctor frowned at him. "Alphonse, listen to-"

There was a sudden knock on the door, and a brown-haired head poked in. "There's a call for you, doctor," she murmured, flashing Al a grin. He smiled back politely, watching her duck back out even as the phone by the exam table rang.

Patterson glared at the phone openly for a second before he walked around the table. "Excuse me - and don't get up," he added, picking up the receiver. "This is Dr. Patterson."

Al politely turned away, idly looking over his shoulder. It was still just as swollen as before, though it did feel quite a bit better. There wasn't much bruising, which he found odd. He still had no memory of landing, just of hearing the floor slap down and then seeing his brother.

Hopefully Franklin would keep making the traps that way. Nonlethal. He considered himself at the head of the line that never wanted to see another Philosopher's Stone transmuted, but he couldn't help but selfishly hope it was a different survey group that found Sorn, and not Ed.

If nii-san was forced into another fight like the one with Irving-

"That's quite impossible."

Al glanced back up at the doctor, more surprised by his tone than anything else, and found Patterson had also been looking at him.

"No, that won't be necessary."

The doctor turned his back briefly, and Al toyed with the buttons on his shirt. No telling if doc was done yet, but if he was, it meant he was free to go again. Where hadn't he looked . . . ?

Well, he hadn't been back to Russ's place yet, but he knew damn well that First Lieutenant Ross probably hadn't slept a wink since Russ escaped her and would be lying in wait there. He winced slightly as he realized Russ wasn't the first alchemist she'd lost track of. Of course, they were all grown now, but oddly, the danger was almost the same-

"Perfectly." The phone was placed gently back in the cradle, and Al glanced over again to see the doctor adjusting the stethoscope around his neck. "Sorry about that," and his usual tone was back as though nothing had happened.

Al gave him a politely concerned look. "Trouble?"

The doctor frowned deeply. "Incompetent lab technicians," he explained, moving to the glass cabinet by the door. "The last group we hired seems to have forgotten everything they ever knew about keeping equipment sterile."

Yes, growing the wrong bacteria on cultures could definitely be a problem. "This wasn't the same group that processed any of the bloodwork on Fletcher . . . right?"

Patterson gave him a strained smile over his shoulder, unwrapping a syringe. "I'm afraid not. I almost wish they had been," he added quietly, quickly palming a bottle. "So, I was meaning to ask you, if you have no leads . . . where are you planning to go?"

Al relaxed a little at the familiar line of questioning. "Tell you what, doc. You take a nap, and so will I."

Patterson turned with a wry look. "What would you do if I agreed?"

"Take a nap."

Patterson indicated that he wanted Al's other arm, and he watched the doctor swab the inside of his elbow. "That's almost tempting enough to take you up on," Patterson admitted. "Nurses gave me a couple hours last night. I take it I don't look any better?"

"Not much." Al made a face at the sting of the drugs. "So now I qualify for the good stuff, huh?"

The doctor tossed the used syringe at the special trash can used for medical waste. "It might make you a little loopier than the pills, but it'll prevent you from tensing back up." He pulled a pen from his inner coat pocket, making a note on the chart. "Promise me that if you don't make any progress by dinnertime, you will go lie down in a bed and remain there for at least seven hours."

Al slipped his shirt back on without moving his left shoulder or his neck, and earned an approving sort of look. "I promise."

"And promise me that if you find Russell, you'll let me know."

Al dipped his chin slightly. "I know. Ribs."

Patterson sighed, then shook his head. "I should have sedated you," he finally decided aloud. "I am truly an idiot."

"Nah. You're a good guy." Al finished with the buttons and eased himself off the exam table. "If I find him, I'll bring him here."

The doctor nodded his appreciation, looping the sling back over Al's neck. They maneuvered his left arm into it easily, and then Patterson sighed and patted his good shoulder.

"Good luck. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

- x -

He watched her pace back and forth, hand straying to her bracelet as walked the short platform. It was fairly crowded, which didn't afford her much room, and after the eighth or ninth pass, he gently caught her elbow.

"Is something bothering you, Mrs. Blane?"

She flashed him a quick smile, rigid as he released her arm. "Lily. And . . . trains make me nervous," she answered with a polite tilt of her head. "Always have, even when I was a little girl."

Russell Tringum raised an eyebrow, but it was just a motion. To be honest, he didn't really care, except she was starting to attract attention. And it was readily obvious why the trains were being delayed, seeing as pretty much the entire crowd was a royal blue. He could barely look anyone in the eye and not see an Amestrian soldier.

And even if Mustang wasn't looking for him that hard yet, he would be fairly soon. If he was recognized, or stopped –

"It's just they're so big, you know? It's frightening to think of yourself hurtling along so quickly with only a metal box between you and the ground . . ." She trailed off with a little laugh. "Foolish, I know. And I'm sure you hardly care."

He caught it, but just barely, and refocused on her face. "Of course I do," he replied. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Am I making you nervous?" She immediately sat beside him on the bench, her slim hands twisting into her lap, before he could even answer. "I do apologize."

He shook his head with a slightly more heartfelt smile. Well, at least she was sitting. "Please don't. Apologize," he added quickly, as she started to gather herself to stand. Lily Blane gave another little laugh, and he shook his head at her. She _was_ pretty wound up. "Was there a train accident, or something?"

She shook her head quickly, dark hair creeping from the neat pile on her head. "No. I just . . . well, lived in Jannai. It's a very small town."

Avram, too, had warned him that Jannai wasn't much to look at. Which made it all the more likely that Franklin could hide there. He was well loved by the people of the town, according to Avram, and they would be suspicious of any soldiers trying to track him down. Particularly if they learned of the accusations.

He and Fletch had grown up in a small town too, before their father's research had dragged them to Central, and then his death to Mugwar's mansion. He could understand how some people could still not be friendly with technology.

"Do you know how they work?"

She gave him a questioning look, so he gestured. "Trains," he added. "Sometimes when you understand how something works, it ceases to be as surprising."

Her lips turned upwards into perhaps the first smile he'd ever really seen her give him. The difference was staggering. "Or as frightening. You're a very polite man, Mr. Tringum. I-" But then she broken off, and somehow the smile was duller. "I know that steam is involved to drive pistons."

He nodded. "That's exactly right." Explaining the trains – simple as they were – did seem to soothe her, and he found an odd sort of comfort in it.

Fletch would have done it.

"Good to see you two getting on!" Russell tensed as a strong hand clapped down on his shoulder, completely oblivious of the discomfort it was causing his ribs. "Sorry about that. Just needed to make a quick call. First time I can remember the trains in Central haven't been running as scheduled."

Russ nodded, clenching his jaw as his back was strongly patted several times. "And the connecting train?"

"Also delayed, longer than this one!" The energetic man came around to stand beside his wife, mercifully stopping the beating, and Russ rolled his spine slightly in relief. "But we should make it."

Russ just nodded, letting his gaze wander the blue sea in front of him as Avram exchanged a few quiet words with his wife. She jumped up immediately, apparently intent on some task, and Blane replaced her as his benchmate.

"Calm down. You look almost as nervous as she does!" He said it as if it was a joke, but Russell knew better.

"I wasn't counting on this."

"Neither was I," the other alchemist admitted in a lower, but still pleasant voice. "Still, though, we'll catch the trains. We'll find him." He nodded, mostly to himself, and heaved a large sigh. "That boy is going to be the death of me."

Russ just shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. They'd gone over why Avram was so sure that was where Franklin had gone – or would eventually end up. It was going to be a waiting game either way, and Russell had also explained that the Prime Minister took a special interest in all his State Alchemists, and a search for him would be begun as well.

Particularly in light of what had happened to Fletch's body.

Another pang hit him, hard enough to prick his eyes. He'd miss the funeral.

He'd miss his little brother's funeral.

Not that he'd attended his father's, refusing to travel for it. And their mother had passed away while he and Fletcher were working for Mugwar. He hadn't gone to her funeral either, and hadn't let Fletcher go. Funerals were pointless ceremonies. Once a person was dead, they were dead, and staring at their body was little more than staring at any other body that didn't know you were looking. Any other pile of carbon and sodium and lime and dozens of other ingredients, all assembled into looking like someone you had loved.

Which was exactly what was lying in the hospital morgue right now. No different than if it was his real body.

He wasn't sure the Elrics knew he knew that. If they did, they'd be the first wave to come hunt him down. In fact, he was counting on it. But it would also mean that funeral would be held without the most familiar people in attendance. If he was wrong . . . if Al was right . . . then what did it mean? Would Fletch know he wasn't there? And even if he did, would he understand?

"I'm sorry, son. That was a terrible thing to say," Avram murmured suddenly in his ear, and Russ scrubbed his face quickly to get rid of his expression. "We'll get them back. We'll get them both back."

Four enlisted chose that particular moment to walk directly by their bench, and Russ left his eyes averted. They seemed to pause for a heartstopping moment, but then he heard the sound of a cigarette carton opening, and he realized what they were doing.

"Yep. But you didn't hear it from me."

"We still _haven't_ heard it from you."

"Very funny. Okay, listen. The blonde ice queen? The general from the north? She's here. Here on this platform."

". . . here?"

A match flared to life, and Russ caught a whiff of sulfur.

"You were wondering what the hell we were doing? That's what." The match was shaken out. "We're all carrying our snow gear. Get it?"

They moved on, out of the little alcove – and a lee in the light wind – and Russ stared at their backs a moment in surprise. Mustang had declared war on Drachma? After all that?

Avram was watching them too, a sharp look on his face. "Huh," he commented mildly. "Well, I guess that explains the delays then, doesn't it, my boy."

- x -

The blonde wasted no time in preparing another transmutation, but it was simply too little too late.

Almost regretfully, he pressed his hands to the newly-burned plaques, concentrating equally on the transmutations. This time Full Metal would have warning, he would see the light of the alchemical reactions, and he wouldn't have any choice but to deal with the most immediate one first.

He watched the light of the alchemical energy race towards his target, two bursts head on with two more moving to encircle the other alchemist. Exactly as he expected, the professor hit the ground. He would start constructing a thick wall of the underrock-

Franklin Sorn blinked as the transmutation being guided by his right hand – jolted, was the closest feeling. Like he was losing control of the reaction. He broke concentration and in seconds the other alchemist had wrestled control of some of the material from him. No matter. Full Metal didn't have time to counter the other, and Franklin watched a veritable sea of earth – all but a four by four little island of grass – swell up around the other alchemist, rising twenty feet into the air, then crashing down on top of him.

It was literally tons of dirt and rock. Even if Edward Elric tried to build himself a stone shield out of the paltry minerals he was able to wrest control over, it wouldn't be sufficient to protect him.

Killed and buried with the same move. Franklin watched the dirt settle, frowning at the cloud of dust billowing into the air. The attack had done damage to the array, too. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, but it meant he was going to have to hide from the advanced party that would be dispatched to check it out.

And the car, too. Franklin looked it over for a moment before deciding the best thing to do would be to bury it as well. Quick, easy, and out of the way.

He picked up the two rings of plaques, running through them until the arrays were in the order he wanted before placing them back on the car itself. The change in his position brought the enormous mound of soil back into view, and Franklin watched it for a moment. It didn't do anything besides continue to settle. No alchemical light.

Not that he expected any. It was so easy to beat a superior opponent if you just didn't stop to _talk_. Still . . .

He wondered if the feeling was disappointment or just adrenaline, but he'd expected that to be –

Well, to be harder. That was Full Metal himself he'd just killed. Not that he was going to stay that way, but still. It wasn't like he was necessarily even any good at fighting-

And when did he start standing around thinking about it? Irritated at himself, Franklin quickly utilized the array, and crouched with it as the car was gently swallowed by the earth. He used the same array to sink the ground he'd disturbed, noting that it was harder than he'd thought to fish the grass out. Hmm. He could make a big flat stone to cover the area, that wouldn't necessarily alarm any advance parties-

There was an appreciative whistle. "That's pretty good."

He whirled around despite himself, the ring of wooden arrays clutched in his hand, and there, not three feet behind him, stood the Full Metal Alchemist. There wasn't a speck of dirt on him, and he looked none the worse for being crushed by tons of rock and dirt. How-

Oh boy.

He stumbled back, tripping over the mostly-sunk car, and Full Metal reached out with the automail and caught him by the collar. There was a flash of light, the tingle of energy, and Franklin flinched –

- and then he was released, and he continued to fall, landing flat on his butt on the roof of the car. His right hand clutched at the wet sand that was in his hands, instead of the rings of neat wooden arrays, and Full Metal gave him a tight smile.

"I always liked that you used arrays burned into wooden boards," he said conversationally. "Hardier than paper, still light, and each array designed to transmute through the wood substrate to whatever else it was you were trying to manipulate." He sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Usually they're attached with rings to your belt, but considering that last attack? Rather be safe than sorry."

All wood, Franklin realized with a jolt. He'd transmuted all the wood on his person into base elements.

They stared at each other a moment before Edward jerked his head. "Come on."

Franklin stood, almost expecting to be hit, but Elric never made a move towards him. Didn't need to, he thought bitterly. In a physical fight he knew the older man could easily defeat him.

It was just the alchemical one that had surprised him. Should have known, should have planned. The professor must have used arches or other support structures until he could tunnel out from the affected dirt, which is why it had still been settling. The tunnel had collapsed, but lasted long enough-

"Where?"

Full Metal brought his hands together and knelt, and Franklin jumped as the car shot out of the ground behind him. It landed heavily, the shocks groaning as the wheels settled on fully repaired, hard earth.

"Back to Central, of course. No use keeping the firing squad waiting."

Franklin just stared at him. Clearly Full Metal was trying to frighten him, he'd just expected the 'understanding' speech first. Wasn't he even going to ask . . .?

"Though I suppose we could make a detour first," Edward drawled after a moment. "Not letting you transmute the army does leave us the unfortunate problem of what to do with them."

. . . he was going to let him transmute the Stone?

"We'll head to West City first," Full Metal finally decided. "You called this army, and you're going to help defend them against it. I have serious doubts that paltry handful of soldiers you had ordered transferred are going to cut it."

Franklin continued to stare at him, keeping his face blank. It wasn't like Full Metal to show him all the cards, and if he knew that much-

Either he knew almost everything, or he was bluffing, and that was all he had.

This was like trying to stare down Roy Mustang.

"Get in," Edward finally ordered.

. . . no. It was too close. The Cretian army was an hour out, the advance party would be here in twenty minutes to check out that dust cloud. But using it in combat, untested . . .

Was there any choice?

"No." He pictured the arrays he would need in his mind's eye. The car was right behind him. Edward couldn't have given him better ammunition if he'd asked.

Full Metal raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you."

"I'm not going anywhere. I already told you, there's no time." He tilted his head to the side. "And you're right. West will get slaughtered if the army makes it to the city." That was a lie, of course. West was defending, so the personnel should be sufficient. It was truth that battle strategy wasn't his strong point, but from a purely scientific analysis, the defenders should be able to hold off five times their number.

But if Full Metal was convinced that it would take alchemists to save West . . .

Edward was unmoved. "I haven't heard a better idea yet."

Franklin just stared at him. Do I have to spell it out, he wondered? "Transmuting the army is the only way to save West."

Edward regarded him for a long moment. "Amestris gains a Philosopher's Stone. Drachma attacks from the north, Aerugo from the south, and both receive reinforcements from their neighbors. Even if you use the Stone to protect Amestris' borders, you can only be in one place at a time. Amestris is unable to defend against the combined force of her enemies, West falls."

Throughout the lecture, he had been balling his fists at his sides. His knuckles were brushing the metal body of the car.

It would be enough. It had to.

There was a bright crackle of light as he reshaped the car's door, configuring the delivery method for the oil, but suddenly he was flying through the air, and his experience in the bar caught up with him.

Full Metal had hit him.

He landed hard, picturing the next array he'd need, one for dirt, but Edward hadn't just hit him. The older man was pinning him with a knee in his chest, eyes wide in surprise, and he brought his human hand to his automail one –

Too slow. Two pillars of dirt shot out of the ground at angles on Franklin's right and left sides, crashing into each other above his stomach so forcefully that dirt splashed everywhere. Franklin turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut, analyzing the feeling.

Full Metal had leapt away. The pillars hadn't hit anything, or the trajectory of the debris would have been different.

He was too unfamiliar with this kind of linear transmutation. Too sluggish.

Franklin used the same array to cause pillars of earth to shoot up at seeming random around him, following a simple fractal design, as he scooted out from under the pillars and took his feet. Surrounded as he was, in a veritable sea of columns, he could slip to the edge while Full Metal struggled with the maze-

Alchemical light crackled beneath his feet, and every column crumbled.

Franklin did the only thing he could think – he ran. Without knowing where his opponent was, it was stupid to stay in the same place. He'd planned for being pinned, but now the trick was up. Edward knew he had another array on him, he'd figure out soon enough what it was made of and it would be destroyed as the wooden ones had been. He was so _fast_-

Just keep him transmuting. He was weak, weakened by Irving's amplifier and that last transmutation had been huge.

Just don't let him touch you.

The columns had collapsed not into mounds of dirt, but back into the ground, leaving the area open, and yet, even looking around, he didn't see Edward at all. He ducked immediately into the grass, hurrying in the same direction as the wind so it would hide the stalks he disturbed. Back toward the car, luckily, if he could get ahold of all that metal and oil there was nothing Full Metal could use to block him.

He stopped moving, keeping his bright red head down as he listened to the grass and his own breathing. He was far enough away from where he'd crouched, and he used the array to sense for vibrations in the dirt. After all, as powerful as he was, even Full Metal couldn't fly. Unfortunately, there were all manner of cracks and shifts and air pockets expelling themselves from all the activity. He concentrated for rhythmic ones, knowing they would be human-

Right behind him.

Franklin didn't turn this time. He just started sprinting in the opposite direction. Just stay out of reach. That was all he had to do.

A clap behind him, and then his feet were caught. Dissolving the Edward Elric-shaped heads that had fastened themselves mouth-first around his ankles was easy and nearly instant –

Nearly. Nearly instant wasn't fast enough.

He came from an unexpected direction, airborne, his automail transmuted into a blade, and Franklin realized it had never occurred to him that Mustang might have ordered the other alchemist to kill him, if it came to that. He had no arrays to handle atmosphere, and there would be no blocking in time. He closed his eyes and braced as best he could.

The slice caught him quite high, across his left collarbone and down his chest. It happened so suddenly, and the automail was so sharp, that it just tingled, long after his body had come to rest in the dirt. He heard Full Metal's feet hit the ground just over his left shoulder, and he dared to open his eyes and look over the damage.

A Philosopher's Stone of one was better than none at all. If he could still move, it could work-

But he found that there was no blood. The front of his shirt bore a single long slice, and the cord supporting the pouch full of coins had been neatly cut. The pouch itself had gone flying, and landed with a pleasant metallic ring a few feet to his right.

Full Metal had landed perfectly, automail still extended over him so that Franklin could see his own reflection in the blade. Once he was balanced, Edward straightened. A clap reduced his automail to an arm shape.

Again, needless transmutation. Franklin took the opportunity to make a grab for the pouch, but the back of his shirt was firmly caught and he was thrown – none too gently this time – back against the ground, hard enough to knock the wind right out of him.

He gasped, unable to do more than lie on his back like a fish while Full Metal circled him and picked up the pouch. The coins – with arrays neatly melted into their backs – were shortly transmuted into a lump of silver and tossed aside with the pouch. Franklin sat up when he could, dragging a knees up to his chest, until breathing became a little easier.

Edward was still standing, staring down at him with an unreadable look. "Please tell me you didn't get tattoos," he finally said. "I didn't bring a first-aid kit with me."

Meaning he would carve them off? Franklin could only continue watching him, still gasping. The dirt was too hard to draw an array, and Edward would be looking for him to do it. His professor hadn't given him anything like blood to use as ink, and even though he had chalk in his pocket the ground wasn't _that_ hard.

And, unfortunately, he hadn't had the foresight to get an array tattooed. Even if he had, it would have been impossible to hide all the ones he'd need.

"Are you . . . going to kill me?"

Elric seemed to ponder the question for a moment, and Franklin managed to catch his breath and swallow.

"I haven't heard a better idea yet."

He knew an invitation to give Full Metal an excuse to spare him when he heard one, but –

But if it was that easy, he would have approached him long ago.

Elric seemed to see the hesitation in his eyes, and he chose to look away instead, toward the west. Seconds ticked by, and he said nothing.

He wouldn't stand there forever.

"You can't-" he started, then he backtracked. "It won't really be killing them."

Edward turned on him so sharply he flinched. "How, exactly, do you rationalize that?" Unlike his body movement, his voice was chilly and completely controlled.

For some reason, that irked Franklin. Clearly this was a show Full Metal was putting on, but for whom? For Mustang? Was he disobeying orders by talking to him, not taking him directly to West?

Ten minutes max before the forward guard got to that ridge.

"Because it won't happen." What he wouldn't give for his arrays, just so he could write the math on the back. "Once I have the Stone-"

"You'll what? Bring them back?"

He frowned at the interruption. "In a way, yes," he countered, pleased when Edward's eyes narrowed slightly. "You say that no one can bring back the dead, but you're wrong. You proved it yourself, actually."

Now he had the professor's attention, and he dared to get to his feet. Edward didn't know how close the enemy was, and if he was going to talk him into this, the array needed to be repaired before the advanced guard arrived.

"You'd only raise a homunculus. Trust me when I tell you it's not the same-"

"No. That way of thinking, of binding a soul to a body, it won't work. Well, it did in the case of your brother, but he was an exception," he hurried on. "Look. Haven't . . . you ever wondered if you could go back, and change something? Something that already happened?"

Edward just continued looking at him, and that was fine. At least he wasn't interrupting. "If you think of time as an observable effect of its own dimension, instead of a constant . . . force, if you will, then all you need is a large enough source of energy-"

Elric folded his arms, then his eyes widened. "So that's what that was . . ." he muttered. "The Gate research, the astronomy angle, our notes. . . I thought it was physics, but the equations-"

So he'd seen it. Well, of course he had, Franklin allowed. How else would Full Metal have found him? "Then you accept that time is a dimension in space as well?"

But Elric was a million miles away. If only he'd bothered to hoard just one of those emergency array coins in his pocket, he could have killed him then and there. "Time . . . damn, there was something . . ." Then his eyes widened. "You mean you want to use the Stone to travel through time?"

Franklin stifled his surprise that Elric was so accepting of the wildly alien idea. "Exactly. I can go back, with the cure, and then none of this will happen. The army will never move on Amestris, and I won't need to be here to transmute it. They won't really be dead."

Edward stared at him like he'd suddenly gone grey. "Are you serious?"

Franklin blinked, a little nonplussed. It was genius, clearly Full Metal had already come to some of the same conclusions he'd made, and he could prove every bit of it with math. "It'll work."

"No, it won't!" his professor exploded suddenly. "Time is relative to the observer, Franklin! Velocity equals distance traveled divided by time. How do you expect the Stone to . . . negate your physical relation to a dimension of space?"

Velocity equals distance traveled . . . divided by time. So Full Metal already had studied the subject as well? He tucked the equation away for digestion later. It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it would work with his own theories. That was the beauty of it. "It can't, any more than it could negate physical force." He licked his bottom lip. "But it can take me to a place outside of the dimension of time. You should know that. You wrote the book on it."

Some of the anger in the other alchemist's face was fading into thoughtfulness. ". . . you think the Gate is outside of time."

At this point, there was nothing to lose. "You proved that too. Alphonse emerged from that place exactly as he had been when he arrived. As far as he was concerned, there was no passage of time at all. Furthermore," he continued, before he could be interrupted, "in order to connect not only to this . . . world, we'll call it, and the other one you visited, where there's an exchange of energies, it would have to be outside time. Otherwise the energy exchange would be impossible."

Elric folded his arms, then his eyes narrowed. "Let's say you're right. The Gate is outside time, and while you remain there you are as well. Let's even say that allows the Gate to move freely in and out of time as it moves in and out of the first three dimensions. What do you think will happen when you leave?"

"I guess that depends on the beings that live there." Full Metal's eyes widened a little, and Franklin hurried on. "You covered them in your notes. I know that a Philosopher's Stone can be used to bargain with them. All it needs to do is 'pay' for them to spit me out in the right place. Now," he continued right on, lest he be interrupted again, "I know that they can't be trusted. They'll spit me out, but they may put me in my child body. They may not have another choice," he allowed. "And once I'm back in the timestream, it . . . might apply retroactively. I might forget what I've learned of the future."

Edward waited until he was sure the pause was long enough to speak. "So you're doing this knowing it will fail?"

Franklin shook his head. "I'm . . . hoping they don't notice until it's too late." He gestured to his camp, only fifty years to the north. "There's a material that alchemy can't affect, can't disassemble. It's a safe, and the Prime Minister-"

"-stole it from me," the professor said shortly. "You plan to take that with you-"

"- and put the information for the cure to a plague in it," he finished. "My father was a locksmith. So even if I don't remember anything, and I'm just a normal five year old with this box-"

"-your father will open it," Ed continued. "And give Jannai the cure to the plague that killed your parents."

"I've written the note so they'll know what it is. They can give it to Avram, or not," he added, "and prevent the plague. Which means I'll never become a State Alchemist, this army will never come here, and I'll never transmute them. So you see? They're not really dying. They'll be fine."

Edward nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Quite good, actually. Don't look so surprised," he added drily. "You're not the first person to theorize about time travel. There was a guy named Einstein in that other 'world' you mention so cavalierly. Crackpot, if you ask me, but he had a theory about this sort of thing.

"His theory goes, if you do something that changes your own future actions, a paradox is created. If you cure the plague, you'll never transmute this Stone. You're right. But if you never transmute the Stone, you never cure the plague, so you _do_ transmute the Stone. See where I'm going with this? He theorized such an event could possibly fracture your 'timestream,' which would pretty much destroy the universe, and I think we both agree that wouldn't accomplish anything. Get in the car."

Trust him to be short-sighted. "Don't be absurd. The time . . . stream will compensate, branching off at the juncture. There's no natural system that could be so easy to fracture."

"And I suppose you have the math to prove that as well?"

Franklin stiffened. "As much as can be proven. Obviously you have to allow for some particles we can't observe yet-"

"Then let's stick to science we can observe," Edward snapped. "Al went into the Gate and came back out, years later, completely unchanged. He didn't come out younger. Time was still moving forward for him. If you move fast enough, time stops in relation to the observer. You can stop time. Time is probably stopped at the Gate. But it can't move in reverse. Nothing can travel faster than the speed of light."

The speed of light . . . ? How did that factor into things? "You saw the math-"

"I saw a bunch of equations that I couldn't make sense of," he interrupted brusquely. "Because they don't make sense. Look, Sorn, even if you're right, everyone who exists after you leave this 'branch' will still have to deal with the consequences of what you've done here, even if you grow up in a world without those consequences. And if you're wrong, the entire universe is destroyed. So get in the car. We're going to West City."

Franklin glanced at the western horizon, trying to sift through the waving grasses for any sign of the advance force. "Look, I don't have time to argue with you-"

"At least we agree on something," Elric muttered. "Are you expecting someone?"

Something slightly too round to be a bunch of grass caught his eyes, and he felt the world drop away.

It was too late. Even if he repaired the array now, they'd see him do it, they'd know it was there.

"Yeah. Them."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, so there was some action, right? What's Patterson up to? What's Russ up to? What about our two braniacs in with the velociraptors? I caught a bunch of typos, meaning not all of them, so as usual, posted without a beta. Don't get spoiled! I just got a bit of free time. And honestly, even I can't drag out introspection and plot forever. Just . . . sixteen chapters or so. )


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Ed followed the boy's gaze to the horizon, noting a slight haze to the air that hadn't been there before. Just like his transmutations had stirred up the dry earth, so was the approaching army.

The Cretians had arrived.

Well, that certainly accelerated the timeline a little. "Do you have any chalk?"

Franklin glanced back at him, a particularly bitter look on his face. "Are you going to slice off my pants if I do?"

He let it go. "Fix the car and head back into town. Tell the command there to prepare for the Cretians." He fished his pocketwatch out of his pocket, unclipping it from around his belt. "If you get caught, give them this, and tell them you're operating under my orders."

Franklin stared at it flatly without accepting it. "You're the same rank as I am."

Edward Elric reminded himself that Mustang wouldn't roll his eyes or slap the kid, he would be unflappable and unbothered. Think like a bastard. "You can turn yourself in if you'd prefer."

"I'd prefer to transmute the army-"

And that downhill slope, so good for hiding the array in the grass, wasn't doing them any favors. Edward knew they'd already been spotted. Though frankly his car was more to blame for that than they were. And that had sort of been the point. "Unless you can transmute the entire group from here, I think that's off the table now. For once in your life, do as you're told."

Sorn glared at him a moment more before stalking back toward the car, and Edward Elric tucked his pocketwatch back into his pocket as he listened to the telltale scribble – light and confident – on the hood of the car. He knew that Sorn could be constructing the same weapon he'd attempted earlier, something to kill him with, but he was also pretty sure the kid knew his plan had been at least postponed. Even if they used alchemy to draw the human transmutation array, the light of the reaction would be a dead giveaway that the field was a land mine just waiting to be tripped.

"You can't hold them back by yourself."

There was a flash of light, and Ed turned back to see the car was fully restored – or at least it appeared it was. It didn't mean that the headlights weren't suddenly going to come flying at him like rockets, but at least it didn't have teeth. "Worried? I thought there weren't any consequences."

The kid gave him a scathing look. "I'll prove you wrong."

"I look forward to it." He turned his back on the young man, watching the number of tanks increase as the armors cleared the ridge. Over a dozen, and of course now that they'd been spotted the advance guard would have to either capture or kill them to ensure they couldn't warn West City. They could lead them on a chase to the next hill, but to be honest they were already in range of the armors. The time to get Sorn out of there was closing fast.

"Go."

He turned and glared at the kid over his shoulder until Franklin walked over to the driver's seat. He hesitated, again as if he wanted to say something, then he just shook his head and climbed in. The engine turned over smoothly- of course, it had been transmuted by the Mechanical Alchemist, it probably worked better than it had originally – and he watched the boy pull away. As soon as he was a safe distance he floored it, and the tires kicked up grass and dust as he took off.

There was enough in the tank to get him back to civilization, if he didn't detour. He'd get to a phone, make an anonymous call, and then they'd have to track his ass down all over again, just to make sure he didn't decide to transmute an Amestrian town instead, now that his first plan was foiled.

Speaking of foiling . . .

Ed turned back, counting the armors and waiting calmly until they were half the distance to him. The men on foot hadn't shouted out to him yet, but they were hurrying, and he was rather surprise they hadn't taken a shot.

Once they were inside his range, he clapped his hands together, taking a deep breath and minding the ache that was already present from the fight with Sorn. The first transmutation, he'd managed to limit the scope. The second had just been flat, hard transmuting, and it had been huge. Franklin was quite powerful. There hadn't been an amplifier in that pouch of coins, though that didn't mean he didn't still have one on him. Probably should have asked him for it, actually. Oh well.

Edward erected the standard four foot defending wall of stone across most of the hill, and as before, the first breath after was fine. The second came with a twinge that radiated deeply through his lungs, though not as bad as he'd feared. He was still able to stand up straight, and the faint dizziness could have actually been from the concussion.

Would have helped if he'd bothered to get some sleep last night, instead of driving.

Now that they knew they were dealing with an alchemist, he let them get a little closer, constructing a much smaller and thicker stand to remain behind as the armors caught up with the foot soldiers. He saw the puff of smoke before he heard the sound of the round being fired, and he watched it carefully as it fell – about twenty feet short. They were on the top of the hill, so they had the advantage of range but the disadvantage of having to figure it out.

Either way, it was close enough. And they'd fired the first shot, so they couldn't claim he'd attacked them. He knew he was close to the Cretian border, and the last thing he wanted was them to complain to Mustang that they were attacked on a routine patrol by one of his State Alchemists. He clapped his hands again, feeling the dirt and bedrock rising up beneath him. Luckily for him there was all this grass. It could be made into all sorts of useful things, and not just bread.

Gunpowder, for example.

His cannon, of which he was immensely proud, hadn't really been used in battle since he was thirteen or so, fighting the Flame Alchemist himself. Still, it seemed somehow fitting, and besides, overkill was exactly what he was shooting for. Sorn was right. Even if he could hold off the advance force, which was really only about a hundred men, he had no hope of holding off the entire army.

The best he could do was scare them and delay them a little. Take care of this group, then get the hell out and hope Franklin actually did what he told him. If nothing else it bought Mustang more time to get West fortified.

"Four!" he bellowed, just to be an ass, and let the stone cannon shudder under him as the reaction completed. A perfectly spherical ball of stone landed a bit further than he expected, just a few feet to the left of an armor. It split apart like a watermelon, splattering its seed of stone barbs in all directions. It was a bit too far out to see, but it did appear that some of them had hit targets.

Targets being people, of course. Stone barbs could do no damage to armors.

He transmuted another ball from the material of the cannon itself, decreasing its size with every attack, and by the fourth he'd taken enough from the structure that he wasn't sure it was safe to use anymore. Not to mention he was running out of manganese and potassium, and the Cretians were getting a lot more accurate. He brought his hands together one more time, to sink it back into the ground, and while he still had the advantage of the height he looked back, just to make sure the yellow car was nowhere in sight.

Sure enough, it wasn't.

Almost a dozen Amestrian armors were, however.

They were moving over the ridge slowly enough to allow their ground troops to keep up. Only their ground troops were a single fifteen year old boy with bright red hair and a large nose. Not that that would be readily obvious to the Cretians - behind Sorn he could see a series of small, static box-like devices whose sole purpose in life appeared to be making dust clouds.

The Cretians couldn't see over the hill. They wouldn't know it was just a smokescreen.

Edward rode the stone cannon down to the ground, moving to the left about thirty feet and bringing his hands together again. This time he felt the ache more sharply but, almost like he was stretching a pulled muscle, it eased off after a moment.

Maybe the taking it slow had been doing more than he'd thought. Assuming Sorn's armors could actually fire, they had a chance.

Edward didn't ride to the top of this cannon - too risky. This one would probably get hit. He manned it from the ground, watching the enemy tanks carefully. The transmuted armors crept in comparison, though they had been sighted by the enemy and their advance had completely halted.

Then things got serious.

As one, the line of Amestrian armors fired, the force of it actually shoving each of them back quite a distance. One flipped onto its side completely, the wheels turning slowly despite the upset of attitude. Once on its side, Edward could see the interior. The outside was just a shell, made of -

Of grass fiber, transmuted into a fabric. Some of the cellulose had been altered to give it a glossy finish, like metal, and the wheels were being driven by what appeared to be a clockwork of gears roughly the size of his head.

Well, that explained where the car went.

The attack, however detrimental to the fleet, had been far more substantial than Edward's. His cannons were mostly for show and to cause injury. But just as he hadn't pulled his punches before, Franklin hadn't done it now. His toy armors were lobbing real explosives. And considering they were unmanned, they did a hell of a lot of damage.

Ed turned back to see the field. Four of the armors had been hit, though it was too early to determine if they had been taken out. Easily a quarter of the infantry was down. He'd probably taken down a quarter himself, but that left fully fifty men. Fifty men who were close enough to mount a charge.

The Cretian force answered with their own artillery barrage, and Ed ducked behind his cover, watching Franklin huddle under his overturned tank as the shells hit. All of them were in the right ballpark, he counted six explosions, and a deafening crash told him his cannon was down.

Well, if the car was well and truly gone, retreat was not an option. They couldn't beat the army to West on foot, they'd be cheerfully picked off by a sniper or four. Very briefly he considered trying to transmute some kind of airplane; still had more work to do in that arena, and there was no place high enough to launch a hand glider. Even if he transmuted one, they'd still probably get shot down.

Stay and fight it was.

Edward gritted his teeth, running the options again before coming to the same conclusion. So, stopping a charge. Unwanted, a portion of his mind he hadn't used in over a year suggested the top German strategies, which were gas and mines. Alternately, he could barb the top of the wall, then have spikes come up. As long as the spikes were relatively short, he'd damage their feet and nothing else.

Unless someone tripped and fell on their face, but then again, it was likely his cannons had already killed someone. If his hadn't, Franklin's sure had.

Damn that kid. At least he and Al hadn't started a _war_.

Ed poked his head around his shelter and got a brief lay of the land. The armors had encountered his defending wall and were in the process of trying to plow over it. The infantry had already cleared it and were incoming.

He clapped his hands, bringing them to the ground, and brought up stone spikes. It was less fatal than explosions. As he flinched back behind his cover at the result, he decided maybe the transmuting was affecting him. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Bullets were now ricocheting off his cover, and he watched in disbelief as Franklin hid behind one of his advancing tanks. A few had bought the farm but an amazing seven were still in motion. There was quite a cloud of dust behind them now, surely that would be enough to turn whoever had survived. Surely this first wave was going to pull back.

Franklin was obviously trying to get his attention, so he lifted his head and called down to the idiot. "Can they fire again?"

Franklin shook his head, creeping steadily along behind his toy armor. "That was all the oil you brought."

They could try to pull explosives from the soil, but it would be time-consuming. Better to transmute more cannons and just give them a little more power. Now that he could use the enemy's armors for metal, at least he could make the missiles strong enough to actually damage a tank.

"Can you transmute one of those tanks into some other kind of vehicle?"

"Not now," he called back, and gestured at the field. Edward dared to take another look.

The forward infantry had indeed decided to pull back, using the defending wall for protection as their armors continued to punch holes. They didn't advance past it, though; no need. They were getting reinforcements, after all. At least another three dozen tanks were on the horizon, and four platoons.

Too many to fight. They were lucky enough they'd gotten out unscathed from the first wave.

Time for Plan B. And he was sure Franklin was going to just _love_ it.

"Get over here!" he bellowed, and brought his hands together, preparing for something he knew was pretty stupid. He reached deep into the earth for bedrock, erecting extremely thick walls in front of him running a twenty yard length. As soon as it was giving Franklin cover he abandoned his armor and headed over, and Edward completed the transmutation, giving them three more walls and a thick, arched ceiling. He constructed the skylights to be angled at ninety degrees, giving them diffuse light but no clear path into the structure that a missile could take advantage of.

Franklin was again trying to get his attention, but he ignored the kid, and when he was sure he'd gotten just about all the rock he could, he completed the reaction.

Then he took a breath, and waited.

And his chest ached.

Edward hesitated, taking another breath. His vision wasn't getting bad. His ears were ringing, but he'd just been shelled, and he had a concussion. When he straightened he found that the ground stayed beneath his feet instead of scooting out from under him.

It hurt no worse than the last one he'd performed, and this one had been huge. He'd just erected a fort, after all. Franklin was watching him closely, and Edward blinked, taking another breath disbelievingly. Still nothing.

Huh.

"Sit in that corner and don't move," he ordered, gesturing to the appropriate corner, and Franklin continued staring at him.

"You realize we're trapped now, right?"

He was still enamored with the realization that he wasn't lying on the ground in his death throes, and he didn't answer with the sarcasm Mustang might have. "We were trapped before. The only thing that's changed is that now we're going to let them kill us."

Franklin continued to stand where he was, and Edward gave up. Obviously the kid wasn't going to listen to a damn word he said. He strode back over to the west-facing wall, jumping a bit as a rattling crack ran through the fort, and he eyed the ceiling. This was going to be tricky, but it was probably going to work. With a clap he brought his hands back to the wall, using dirt from the ground beneath them to fashion smaller cannons. There was plenty of grass to be had, and shortly he had them firing. At least , he figured they were. All they could hear were low, loud thumps as each reaction went off. Ed used stone from the south-facing wall to reinforce the west face, and then he took his hands away.

The ache was really no worse. It was still present and it still hurt, but it hurt in almost a good way.

Almost like when his right shoulder had finally healed from Irving's attack, and he'd worked the stiffness out of it the first couple times.

In fact, the principle might be exactly the same.

He might have overextended his inner Gate, then let it heal, and it had 'stiffened up'. Now he was forcing it to channel reasonable amounts of energy again, and while he'd probably more than already overdone it, it wasn't like he had the means to overextend it to such an extreme again. Irving's amplifier had been completely destroyed.

"You have any Incomplete Stone on you?"

Sorn looked shocked, but he didn't glance up from the array he was scribbling on the wall. ". . . no. It's gone."

He almost asked what Sorn had used it on, but decided that could wait for now. After all, they'd have hours to talk about it later, if this worked "Your biological transmutation skills have improved. When'd you study up on it?"

The array, he could see, was to transmute the grass into gunpowder. Sorn was helping him. The kid finished it and touched it with a few fingertips, and the grass immediately next to him began to disappear into the ground. The fort was rocked by another heavy hit, and both of them glanced up at the ceiling again as some dust trickled down onto their heads.

"I'm already an expert in mechanical transmutation. There are only a few branches that interest me."

"Chimera research, for example?"

The kid glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "You saw the proof yourself, then, before you blew it up?"

Ah, so Franklin had been in Central long enough to hear about the tunnel to Lab Five being found. More explosions battered the stone fort, and Edward kept the cannons firing. He'd wait until they'd actually collapsed part of the structure before stopping the return fire.

"Proof of what?"

"Time travel," Franklin snapped. "Those were my test runs."

The kid was brilliant, but that was pushing it too far. Edward shook his head. "I'll agree they were someone's test runs," he growled. "Who were you working with? The same guy that gave you that human transmutation circle?"

Franklin stopped what he was doing without answering, having collected a rather large pile of gunpowder at his feet. He started drawing another array, and there was a resounding crack that Edward could find no visible evidence of.

Well, that wasn't good. Something had broken. He clapped his hands together, abandoning the interrogation for now, and analyzed the structure of the fort. The west face had cracked, and he transmuted it back together seamlessly, even wasting a little energy to make it flashy.

That would piss the Cretians right off.

"How long can you keep this up?"

Edward raised an eyebrow, taking a deep breath. "Why do you ask?"

"I think your plan of dying is stupid."

Well, it was, but it was going to work. They didn't have much choice. "You're not claustrophobic, are you?" Then again, if he'd done all that work in the tunnel, he couldn't be. Franklin confirmed by shaking his head with a confused look, then dawning comprehension.

"You're going to let them destroy the fort and assume they've killed us, and use the same tunneling technique you used to escape me to get us out."

Edward gave him an unimpressed look. "What else would we be doing?" Hadn't he just used the same strategy – successfully - against the kid less than half an hour ago?

Sorn didn't take the bait, instead finishing a rather complicated-looking array. "There's a far more efficient way to keep the cannons firing." Then he put his hand to the array, and blue light crackled across the front three faces of the fort. He transmuted for several seconds as his gunpowder pile diminished alarmingly, then he finished, and brushed off his hands. In the relative dim, Edward could still see that he looked a little pale.

Showoff.

He was strong, but he wasn't grown yet. Then again, even at thirteen, he'd pulled off some hellacious transmutations. That statue of Leto was a good example . . . Al with that tornado-

And Sorn had been transmuting as much as he was. Still, though, that warehouse trap had been huge. Clearly this wasn't the largest transmutation he'd ever performed. "Don't overdo it."

Sorn gave him a flat look. "I'm fine."

"You're deaf," Edward replied. "I told you to go to West City."

They both retreated from the walls as the cannons continued to thunk away regularly. The fort continued to shake and shudder with hits, and again, they heard the western wall crack.

"By the time I got there they'd have seen the army. Besides, they'll see the dust cloud we've stirred up."

"That's not the point." Edward prepared another transmutation and touched the south wall, using a small amount of it to repair the western face again.

"Yes, I realize you were giving me an out," Franklin finally grumbled. "But it wasn't necessary. You should have let me transmute the army. In fact, now that they're on top of us, we still _can._ They won't be able to clear the field in time."

True. "Last I checked, the speed of light hasn't changed in the last fifteen or so minutes."

"It doesn't matter-"

It was going to be a long day. "Also, the consequences of being wrong still make it not worth the risk."

Franklin scrubbed his face, then picked up a piece of chalk. "Do you mind?"

Edward kept an eye on the ceiling and didn't answer, and after a moment Sorn drew a relatively simple array on the wall – grass to paper. Even while being shelled by an army, he was going to demonstrate the math. He thought about telling the kid to save his strength, but if all went according to plan, he was going to be saving it just to sit in a cave for several hours, and it was better than arguing with him-

It suddenly occurred to Edward that the shelling seemed to be settling out. Their cannons were still firing away, apparently on some kind of chemical fuse, and Edward didn't really want to know how the kid was managing to still give them something to fire – probably transmuted nice assembly lines of cannonballs through the walls – but the enemy wasn't answering as frequently as they had been.

They were far too big an army to just run by and hope they didn't get hit. No, they'd have to destroy the fort before they could pass –

And they'd have to do it in a hurry, before the alchemists could repair the damage.

Time to hide.

Ed moved away from the walls, actually grabbing Franklin by the arm rather than telling him to come to him. Not like he'd listen anyway.

"Hey-!"

The armors had had more than enough time to figure out range. The noise was so loud Ed could literally feel each hit as if it had been a physical blow, and the amount of light in the one-room structure increased sharply as the front right half was completely destroyed.

Edward released Franklin only to bring his hands together, and suddenly they were both plummeting down a dirt shaft barely wide enough to accommodate them. He chanced a glance up even as he did it, recognizing that the large piece of stone gently rotating as it flew was going to be angled when it hit, it was narrow enough to follow and crush them and he was only working with dirt, not stone-

He immediately changed the angle on the shaft so that it turned into more of a slide than a straight plunge, but he literally couldn't move the dirt as fast as the rock was falling, and the deeper they went the harder it was to displace it. Even more unfortunately, the rock was angling to chase them, rather than getting caught.

Shit.

And then Franklin, shoulder glued to his own, clasped his hands in front of himself as if praying – and reached up for the ceiling fragment.

A flash of light mirrored his own, and in the next moment the huge stone slab was dust.

Edward angled the slide up sharply, slowing them down and getting them closer to the surface. They were probably twelve or so feet behind the fort, and sixteen feet deep or deeper. Since it was only dirt – he'd mined all the stone for the fort – he took extra time to reinforce the ceiling with multiple crossing arches and pillars. Once the reaction died, they were plunged into total darkness.

Phosphorus would just eat up their available oxygen. And he'd already mined all of that, too. Besides, they didn't need light. He knew what he'd seen.

He'd seen Franklin transmute without an array.

They remained silent, panting and listening to the slide collapse. The explosions were almost as loud down here as they'd been in the fort, and the ground shuddered as the second volley apparently took out the rest of the structure. After that, there were a few residual explosions, and then Edward felt comfortable enough to take his hands off the ground and shake the dirt out of the back of his shirt and collar.

"So," he said conversationally, "when'd you see the Gate?"

The dark didn't answer him, though he could clearly hear Franklin breathing, and after a moment the boy shifted, apparently finding a wall to lean against. Minutes passed, in which a few more shells came down, sounding farther away. Probably random fire into the grasslands on the off chance they'd bolted out a back door.

Edward sighed lightly, rubbing his right shoulder. He certainly wasn't cold anymore, but it hadn't appreciated his second fall in almost as many days. "How about you start from the beginning."

A hesitation. "Do I have a choice?"

Ed knew Mustang would never have answered that, so he remained silent.

Eventually the boy took a preparatory breath. "What do you want me to say?"

How hard was start at the beginning? He held his tongue, letting the kid squirm, and eventually Franklin spoke again.

"It's the same as what you and your brother did. I took an idea and ran with it. Avram – Blane, my teacher, he always wished he could go back and fix past mistakes. He wanted it more than anything." Oddly, the boy's snort sounded bitter. "We . . . had a disagreement, several years ago, and I decided to continue researching on my own. That's when I started looking into your notes, and figured out some of the algorithms."

Well, that was enlightening, at any rate. "And you wanted to give the Stone to him?"

"At first." The kid hesitated.

"Not now?"

"Now it's not relevant." It was soft. "I studied how Scar managed to do it, then the papers said there'd been an assassination attempt on one of the candidates – just before Mustang got elected. I guess you know the rest already."

Edward leaned his head back against a dirt wall, staring at a point of darkness in thought. The story on Blane could wait. "So you were responsible for all the attempts on Mustang but the first?"

Franklin fidgeted. "Not the first or second. It took me that long to figure out who was responsible. Then I . . ." There was a sound like he'd smacked or licked his lips. "I offered up my services as an informant. I had to give them something to make them work with me, so I told them enough to get them into buildings, enough to get them close."

Edward closed his eyes, though the view was the same. Shit. The kid was going to be shot if he was caught. There was no way Mustang could make this go away. "And so they trusted you."

The sound of fabric shifting. "When Parliament hosted talks with Drachma, that seemed as good a time as any. It's remarkably easy to push a country to war."

Deep breaths. The bastard wouldn't get angry at this point. "Who gave you the array?" He didn't specify which one and he didn't need to. Again, the boy hesitated.

"You saw it?"

Ed resumed staring at the darkness, hoping it would convey his displeasure at not being directly answered. "It isn't the one you used, is it. It . . . doesn't look like it would be efficient."

"Sorn, who gave it to you."

" . . . I can't tell you."

For a split second, he'd thought he was talking to an adult. Edward quashed his angry exhale and moderated it. "You can and you will. I've seen that array before. I want to know how you got it." From the same person who taught him biological transmutation, probably.

". . . I found it. I don't know who drew it, so I can't tell you."

"How convenient."

"It was with the notes on chimera construction. That site, where I found the Incomplete Stone . . . that was Laboratory Five, wasn't it."

Part of him wanted to be surprised, but he wasn't. "Tucker. God dammit." They hadn't had a chance to get rid of anything in the lab, it had been buried, he'd hoped for all time. So Sorn had been transmuting away and just happened to get a taste of the amplifier, so of course he'd investigated . . . "You get that out of our notes?"

More shifting. "I suspected," he finally admitted. "That's' why I requested that particular area. I had to fight for it, actually. No one wanted to put a child so close to the prison." His tone told Ed more than the words what he thought of that, and Edward pressed his lips together to prevent himself from responding in kind.

There was a _reason_ for that, you idiot.

"Didn't you luck out."

"Someone less scientific would call that fate," Franklin pointed out, and Edward glared in his direction as hard as he could.

"If you've seen the Gate, you know better," he replied calmly, reminding Franklin that he hadn't forgotten. Not by a longshot.

Creating chimera wouldn't explain transmuting without an array. Even transmuting a Philosopher's Stone wouldn't. Al hadn't gone to the Gate even when he'd _become_ the Stone. Then again, that had been passive on his part. He had been transformed but he had not worked the transmutation. Was it possible that Hohenheim had seen the Gate when he'd transmuted the first Philosopher's Stone? Or that Scar would have, had he survived?

Then again, Marcoh had made all that Incomplete Stone, and he'd never seen it.

"You didn't realize you could do that, did you." The moment Ed heard the muffled echo of his own words, he realized they made perfect sense. "You were using linear transmutations against me because you knew you didn't have time for mechanical ones." The columns of dirt, so unlike the reactions Franklin knew and loved. He'd tried one of his normal transmutations, the car, and had failed miserably because it simply took too long.

No, if he'd known he could transmute without arrays, he'd have done it during their fight. Which meant either the boy hadn't put two and two together, and putting him in the dim, enclosed area of the fort, asking all the right questions-

Or he'd seen the Gate very recently indeed, and hadn't had the opportunity to try it yet. "Or have you already transmuted a Philosopher's Stone?" After all, all it took were about forty prisoners and a few vats of Incomplete Stone. Technically all it took was one human-

"No." Franklin didn't quantify it.

"If not a Stone, then it was human transmutation." He let his voice be as cold as it wanted. "Did you use Fletcher Tringum as a test run?"

It seemed that Franklin was holding his breath, but Ed let the question hang heavy in the air, and he did nothing to give the boy an out. One of the pillars in the room creaked softly.

"I've never created a homunculus, if that's what you're asking," he finally said, almost matter-of-factly. "That's the result of bringing back the dead, right?"

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't care!" It was a shout, and it cracked at the end. "I'm not answering any more of your questions. You're the genius. Figure it out."

Ed clucked his tongue. "Touched a sore spot, have I?" His voice was the bastard's drawl, but his stomach was a cold lump. He'd been hoping so much for some shadowy person to be responsible for this, for the chimera, for Fletcher . . . but if Franklin really had found Shou Tucker's research, had transmuted the chimera, had even sent them through time, it would explain the rates of decay . . .

It would explain Fletcher's missing body and Mustang's warning. It would explain everything.

"I'm not wrong," Franklin shot back.

The pillar creaked again, and then Edward had the very distinct impression that something in the room moved. This was confirmed when the pillar hit the dirt floor with a single, heavy thud. Ed's eyes were drawn to it immediately, though he could see nothing, and he listened carefully before bringing his hands together again.

The pillar fell in one piece. It hadn't shattered or broken until it landed. The only thing that would make it fall was if the distance between the floor and the ceiling increased. That would only happen if weight was removed, and _that_ would only happen if-

Blue light crackled around them, blinding, and Ed slammed his hands to the ground. "Sorn, stop!"

He took control of the pillars, lest they be buried alive, and he heard Franklin's surprised gasp. "-I didn't-"

Then they were blinded with light that was far too yellow and far too intense to be alchemic. He heard a clap, but he was already forcing unhappy eyes and an aching head to focus above them, almost twenty feet above them-

Rifle barrels. A lot of them.

"Don't!" he growled sharply, leaving his hands exactly where they were. While one of them obviously was, the rest of the Cretians weren't alchemists. They didn't have the time it took someone else to react and transmute. All they had was the time it took someone's finger to tighten.

He could transmute that fast, if he'd prepared. But he hadn't. And this was far too new to Franklin, he'd already proved that even his simple transmutations were too slow for combat.

"Hands in the air! Now!"

- x -

"You look disappointed, sir."

Alphonse Elric tried for a bright grin. He was probably almost loopy enough to pull it off. "No man I know would be disappointed to find you in their house. Or any house," he added, remembered at the last second that Russell's house wasn't his. "At ease."

The first lieutenant was not impressed - Denny Brosh probably came up with much nicer lines, Al chided himself mentally. In truth, he _was_ disappointed to see her face, because it meant he had, quite unfortunately, been correct. She hadn't slept, and she was still hoping Russ was going to come home.

"Come in before you fall down, lieutenant colonel. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I could ask the same of you," Al replied, though he entered the house just the same. It looked pretty much as it had before Russ left - pictures of Fletcher all over the place. No wonder he'd had to leave. "Any sign of him?"

Maria Ross nodded, closing the front door regretfully. "His pills and wallet are gone. Happened sometime in the last six or so hours. I was giving descriptions of the guests back at HQ." She smiled, a little ruefully. "It's almost a shame Alex Armstrong is getting that promotion. I'm going to miss his artistic abilities that don't include removing his shirt."

Al grinned more sincerely - that was certainly true. "Just trying to get a list down, or do you think one of them might have something to do with him skipping town?"

The slim brunette shrugged, leaning against the back of a chair instead of sitting down. She almost looked like she wanted to start pacing, which was quite unlike her. It was also unlike her to be so informal. While she had called him by his rank, and he had told her to relax, she was not standing at parade rest. Whether she was tired enough to take him at his word or too preoccupied to remain her usual uptight self was hard to tell.

"I'm just covering all the bases," she replied, gesturing at the guest book. "Not everyone signed, and we were thinking he might have gone home with one of them just to . . . well, to get away."

Al wandered over to the coffee table, adjusting his sling. It looked as it usually did - the plate for Russ's keys, the spare cenz he fished out of his pocket at the same time. Al had left Russ's drugs in the upstairs bathroom, so apparently he'd had time to come in, grab the keys, his pills -

He'd only take the bottles if he meant not to come back.

"Was there anyone you didn't recognize?"

She sighed, a sound too deep for someone of her years. "Of course. I don't keep up with the alchemists like I once did, Alphonse." She, too, must know what the drugs being gone meant. "My orders were to prevent him from doing anything stupid, so I wasn't really paying attention to anyone else."

He nodded. It was a tall order indeed, considering how poorly Edward had done. He couldn't help but remember back to the mud on Russ's shoes. He'd gone for a walk that night, with an array on that paper, he was sure of it. Where would he have gone that would have been muddy that night? Where that was within walking distance?

"Did he take his car?"

She shook her head. "No. It's still here, in fact. I was hoping that meant he took his keys because he meant to come back." Her voice sounded strained, and he turned to give her a reassuring look.

"He's fine. I'm sure he just needed some time."

Maria gave him a brief smile, but it was as strained as her voice. "I know we didn't deserve a note, but I wish he left one just the same."

Al nodded, giving the room another once-over. Pills, keys, wallet. "He take his toothbrush?"

She shook her head. "Not any clothes, either, that I can tell."

"Well, maybe it means he doesn't plan to be gone long." Or at the very least it meant he was going somewhere that had a spare set of clothes and a new toothbrush. Al could understand very well why Russ wouldn't have come to them, but it still saddened him. "I assume you've already talked with everyone that spent a lot of time with him?"

She nodded. "All but three. That's who we were drawing up at HQ. One of them looked almost Ishbalan." That probably would have been Darr Swolls, the Quiet Alchemist. Which really didn't make a lot of sense, since he could count on fingers and toes the words the alchemist had told him outside of 'yes' and 'no'. "There was one pudgy guy that he went to talk to in his lab for quite a while. I remember thinking I was going to shoot him if he was talking to Russell about alchemy." Pudgy alchemists . . . none came to mind. Maybe Morris?

"Black guy?"

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't Morris. Him I know." She gave him a droll look. "He can't resist women in uniforms."

Al whistled through his teeth. "He should try that line on Hawkeye." After all, he was an alchemist. He could probably protect himself.

Maybe.

"Who was the third?"

"Really tall, thin guy with almost no hair. He was easily in his seventies, so I figured he was a friend of the family."

They had some older alchemists, but none that fit that description. "Anything about those two you can remember?"

Maria shook her head, and Al turned back to the table, pulling open the drawers aimlessly. They held no clues, just odds and ends, and he closed them again gently.

"The tall guy didn't have a certification," she noted after a moment. "No chain. The pudgy guy did, though."

Al nodded, chewing on that as he climbed the stairs to Russ's room. Pudgy certified guy . . . again, no one was coming to mind. Then again, just because someone had a pocketwatch chain didn't mean they were a certified alchemist. They were just too used to it being a part of military uniforms to ever think anything else.

Russ's room was pretty much a mess. His bedsheets were twisted and told of rest that hadn't been restful, and his dresser top was covered with papers that bore the beginnings of arrays, and an atrociously striped sock.

Something about it tugged his memory, and Al wandered over to it, noting the toe seemed full of something. He picked up the offending article, shaking it out, and a roll of paper bills tumbled onto the dresser top.

His stash. Al hadn't seen the sock since the last place the Tringums had lived, the one Irving brought down on top of them. How the hell had Russ managed to get it out of the wreckage-

Hell, it had his stash of petty cash. Russ was such a tightwad, and even if the research couldn't be saved, so long as something was salvageable-

Or maybe it had to do with why Russ was on Mustang's - and Hakuro's - list.

Curiously, Al carefully flattened the roll one-handed, counting the bills as he went. Four hundred and twenty cenz. Odd number, he would have expected an even five-

He also wouldn't have expected it to be left out unless Russ had been in a hurry. A hurry to grab his pain meds, his keys, and eighty cenz. It wasn't much, enough for a quick dinner out and a taxi, but not enough for a hotel. Barely enough to buy more than a train ticket. So he'd probably gone with someone, Maria had been right. Al contemplated that as he scanned the bedroom, then inspected the bathroom again.

It wasn't until he was on the way down the stairs that it started to click, and he was unsurprised to find Maria standing at the door, looking out.

"Lieutenant?"

She turned quickly at her title, and he waved down any attempt at a salute. "The pudgy guy . . . did he seem a little backwater for a certified alchemist?"

She blinked slowly, her eyes wandering the room and her memory. " . . . yes. Now that you mention it, he did have that manner of speaking. Soothing, which is why I let them get away with holing up in the workroom . . . how did you know?"

"You're a genius." He would have hugged her if he had both arms free. Instead, he headed immediately for the door. "The trains, they're being rescheduled for the move to Drachma, right?"

He wasn't sure if Ross was in on that plan or not, considering how little time she'd spent in the office lately, and even if she was, she didn't bat an eye. "Yes. The papers will be screaming about it by morning-"

So there would be a hefty military presence. Russ would stand out like a sore thumb. If he hadn't been trying to slip away unnoticed, someone would have reported seeing him by now.

"Where are you going? Alphonse!"

He turned to glance over his good shoulder, wincing slightly more at the imagined shout it would have gotten out of Patterson more than because of actual pain. "Gotta catch a train," he called back.

A train to Jannai.

Avram Blane was a pudgy man from the country who had a silver pocketwatch chain without having a State title. There was no telling why he would have visited Russell, but every reason for Russ to follow him back to Jannai.

Since that was where Franklin would end up, if he succeeded in transmuting his Stone.

- x -

Even with his eyes closed, Russ couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He knew why, but this time he didn't care enough to do anything about it.

The train was amazingly hypnotic, the repetitive clank of the ties beneath them, the rocking motion, and most of all, the relative safety of the cabin. There were only two passenger cars, everything else had been claimed by the State military, and that unrest had caused the civilian portion of the train to be nearly empty. Even knowing this train wasn't heading north, which he couldn't understand. Why move the troops anywhere but towards Drachma?

So he, Avram, and Lily pretty much had the nicest cabin on the train to themselves. None of the soldiers had come to bother them, and if Lily would quit staring at him, he could probably get some sleep.

The one inconvenience in all this was the amount of time they'd had to wait for the train to pull away from the station. That and the fact that with no passengers, there was no car coming down the aisle with lunch. Which they'd missed altogether on the platform, knowing moving around was just that much more likely to get him noticed.

It really was astonishing that no one had recognized him. Good, but a little alarming. Franklin could have easily still been in Central and been overlooked, if the soldiers were that preoccupied.

A stomach growled, though he wasn't sure whose until he heard a soft intake of air. "Oh, dear. Please excuse me."

He heard fabric shifting - probably Avram's hand on her knee. "I think we could all use a little something," he said a little more loudly, as though to make sure Russ woke. Not that he'd been sleeping, but he opened his eyes slowly to acknowledge that he'd heard. He was right; Avram was already getting to his feet.

"I'll go see if I can scrounge us up something."

Lily gave him a quick, grateful smile that faded the moment the cabin door had slid shut, and then she clasped her hands together and gave him a quick glance.

Against his better judgment, he sat up a little straighter. "Is something bothering you?" He hadn't seen her calm . . . well, ever. She was very thin and birdlike, which meant she was probably this nervous most of the time, but it was really starting to bug him.

She gave him a suddenly hopeful look, again, so different than her normal expression that it was almost blinding. "That's very kind of you to ask." She hesitated, then licked her lips. "You're a State Alchemist, aren't you?"

He blinked some of the weariness out of his eyes. "Yes ma'am." So that was what was bothering her. Avram had already warned him that she disliked talk of alchemy, having the small-town belief that it was borderline sacrilegious. Given that she was afraid of trains, he could believe it. She was old-fashioned indeed. Never spoke out of turn, always attentive to her husband. Then again, if she was this wound up all the time, she was lucky she had someone who would put up with her.

"Is that a problem?"

She shook her head quickly, stealing a glance at the pocket door of the cabin. There was a narrow, frosted glass window, and it showed that no one was looking in. "It's a godsend," she whispered. "Please, please help me. I'll do anything, please just get it off-"

She had extended her hands to him, clutching at his, and he glanced at them, expecting by her panicked pleading to find a spider or some other insect somewhere on her person. Instead, all he saw was a fine-boned, pale wrist, an intricate and lovely bracelet, and a cotton blouse.

Well, she probably didn't want him to take her shirt off. "I'm . . . what?"

She continued pleading with him, and Russell sat up, fully awake for what seemed like the first time since - He pushed the thought away, accepting the wrist that was being thrust at him and inspecting the bracelet more closely. The clear stones were connected with a fine tube of silver, and the entire thing positively glistened-

Liquid. They weren't stones, they were capsules of liquid.

"Hurry, he'll be back soon!" It was hushed and positively terrified. "He does something to it every few hours with alchemy, he'll do it again soon. Please!"

He stared at it another moment before he looked back up at her. She was doing her best not to shake, her breathing uneven but nothing even close to a tear in her eyes. What the hell . . .? "What do you mean, he does something to it? What is this?"

"He says if I run he'll kill them!" It was barely a breath. "I don't know how he'd know, but it must have something to do with this! Get it off, please get it off."

Russell watched her for a moment more, determining by the pulse pounding away beneath his fingers that she truly was as upset as she seemed. Then he looked at the bracelet more closely. There was no clasp, it appeared to be a bracelet that would just slip on and off, but as he tried to rotate it, she gasped with pain, and he saw the skin pull as if it was caught.

Easing a fingernail between her skin and the bracelet, he found that the silver tubing actually went beneath her skin, and there was no blood at the joint. Furthermore, it came back out of her skin about an inch down. It wasn't just that the end had stabbed her. It had been inserted on purpose.

Russell blinked back up at her, taken aback. Something with alchemy - and the liquid capsules. Would the liquid then be injected into her, after a certain amount of time? Was that why he used alchemy on it every so often? If it was a poison, it would certainly work better than any manacle at keeping her a prisoner, but -

"Aren't you his _wife_?"

She sobbed, but again, no trace of tears. "There's no time, he'll be back any moment-"

"Who's going to be killed if you leave?"

"The town, the entire town!"

The door slid back, and she flinched as if he'd shocked her, instantly withdrawing her hands and schooling her features. She did it so well that even Russell doubted what he'd seen. She turned the motion into one made to stand and help her 'husband,' who had his hands full with sandwiches and bottles of juice. If he suspected anything he didn't show it, and Russ accepted a roast beef sandwich and a lemonade.

"We were in luck! They were still open to serve the military," Avram said cheerfully, handing Lily her own half-sandwich. He gave Russell anther look, this one more surprised. "Is everything all right?"

There was a tone underlying it that Russell knew well, and he nodded. "We had a visitor. He didn't recognize me," he added quietly. "Just a closer call than I would have liked."

Avram watched him for a moment, nodding in understanding. "I know this is a lot for you to take in, and a huge risk besides. Truly, I appreciate what you're doing."

Russell just nodded, unwrapping his sandwich and watching in amazement as Lily smiled and bobbed her head and reassured Avram that it was exactly what she wanted. Maybe she was crazy? But there was no doubt the bracelet had been implanted - possibly even transmuted - into her on purpose. Was it a pretty way to constantly dose her with something? Keep her under wraps? Was he transmuting more drugs into it, or was it as she said, to keep her in line?

What on earth for?

"I've been meaning to ask you," he said around a mouthful of roast beef that suddenly tasted like ash, "when did you get into Central? Was it yesterday morning, or the day before?

"The day before," Avram answered. "The newspaper was slipped under our hotel door, that was how I knew where the visitation would be. Though I'm terribly sorry that it happened the way it did-"

"But you knew you'd get my attention," Russ answered, taking a sip of lemonade. "So let's cut right to the chase. What do you want from me?" If he had to confront the guy, it would be better to do it when they stopped than on the train, but at the very least, if they did it on a train crawling with soldiers, he had a better chance of keeping a lid on this guy, particularly if he really was in a position to call whoever he'd called before, someone to act on his behalf.

In fact, that might have been exactly what that phone call had been about. Warning his partner that he was being delayed.

Possibly warning Franklin, for all he knew.

Avram gave him a calculating look, then smiled broadly. "I thought you two were getting along too well," he finally admitted. "Lily, dear, you should have waited. In another few days, you would have been free to go."

The woman had frozen where she sat, looking absolutely terrified, and Russell got the impression that she was not at all pleased with his strategy. Russ just took another bite of the sandwich. If Avram wanted to poison him, he could have done it at any time yesterday during dinner.

Blane kept smiling. "You're a genius, Mr. Tringum. Also a very powerful alchemist who specializes in healing alchemy. Another name for that would be biological transmutation, and since I think it's obvious by now that Frank's attempt is in peril, I did need an insurance policy."

Russell raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what she's for?"

Blane laughed almost gleefully. "Well, yes, but not for this," he said dismissively. "Though you seem to care about her, so as usual, everything works in the end." He took a large swig of his lemonade. "She told you about the bracelet, I take it?"'

Lily still hadn't so much as twitched a muscle, and Russ tried to appear unconcerned. If Avram believed that he didn't really give a damn about her it might give him a slightly better negotiating position.

"I noticed it seems to have been transmuted into her wrist," he finally observed. "She's not to blame. Perhaps if you treated her better she wouldn't be so nervous."

"I treat her fine." It was dangerously soft. "We're trying for a child, did she tell you?"

Lily was staring at her lap, her lips white, and Russ realized it was a test to see if such a comment would anger him. And seeing as his sandwich was now crumpled, he'd given himself away. Avram smiled again.

"Very perceptive, boy, but then again, I expect you would have noticed sooner if not for the most unfortunate death of your brother. She is my insurance policy as much as you are, Mr. Tringum. You see, if Franklin fails to make me a Philosopher's Stone, I'll need another alchemist to transmute one for me. You seem to fit the bill. And if you're very, very good, I'll let you use the remainder to resurrect your brother."

Russ almost dropped the sandwich. "Are you out of your _mind_?"

Blane spread his hands helplessly. "I suppose that could be argued. For what it's worth, I recommend going along with me for the moment, however. The alternative is less pleasant."

Russell fought the urge to transmute Blane into the bench then and there. "Really."

Blane nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "You see, I'm the only alchemist in the world that knows exactly what that bracelet is for, and what it can do. Also, there's the townsfolk to consider."

Russell stared at the man, debating just how difficult it would be to get the bracelet off her without triggering or upsetting any balance in it, and Avram gestured with the sandwich. "They'll all die within two days of my incarceration," he explained. "And not even you could do anything about it. Not in time, anyway." He turned to Lily, patting her knee again.

"There are, what, two hundred people in Jannai, dear?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Action! Plot reveals all over the place! What more could you ask for:looks at reviews: Ah. Patterson. ) Unless I go into rambly!mode Mitai, that reveal should be next chapter. And then, all we'll have to do is tie up the clusterfuck that's just been created. After all, putting Ed in the middle of an enemy army is a _great_ idea! Really!

As usual, posted without a beta, and I just found quite a collection of misused words. I apologize in advance! Please let me know what you see and where, and I'll be sure to clean it up once this monster is put to bed.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Stupid.

Edward Elric relaxed as best he could, leaning heavily against the tent pole to take the weight off his aching feet. Not that he didn't routinely spend long periods of time standing – as a professor, he very rarely sat, preferring to teach from the lectern or to make rounds during lab. He just rarely did it without shifting, and almost never with his hands over his head. Those differences were turning out to be substantial ones, as far as his comfort was concerned.

He let his head fall back against the pole as well, eyeing the plate of steel that was firmly enfolding his hands. As far as manacles went, transmuted ones were the best, and the same alchemist that had tunneled after them had decided a block of steel would be sufficient to stop both transmutations and automail. Unfortunately, he thought the automail _was_ automail, and that Ed wouldn't have such a hard time holding thirty pounds of metal over his head.

He also seemed to be under the impression that Edward could have clapped that metal block to a foot to complete a circle, which he was pretty sure wouldn't work. Fingertip to toe, maybe. If he thought about the math sideways. Either way it meant his hands had been tied above his head, not tightly enough to totally support the weight of the steel, and as he'd been there for about nine or so hours now, his feet were starting to complain.

He closed his eyes, easing his weight onto his right foot to give his 'automail' a break, and let his head fall to the left. He didn't need to look to know that Franklin was sitting there – sitting, the spoiled little shit – in a wooden chair, restrained in a far more traditional manner. Both his hands and his ankles had been tied to the chair, and his hands had been shoved into cotton gloves to prevent him from scribbling an array of any kind into the armrests. While he was certain the kid was more comfortable, he didn't look any happier than Ed felt. His eyes were focused inward, and he was clearly thinking very hard about something.

Hopefully about velocity, mass, and the speed of light. Gate be damned, Stone be damned, he could not go back in time.

Which was rather unfortunate, seeing as both he and Sorn were now prisoners of a war he wasn't sure Amestris even knew it was fighting yet.

Ed took a deep breath, centering his head once more to glare at the other three people in the room. They were the reason he hadn't shattered the tent pole with his armored leg and taken off – they had guns, and they were alert.

Maybe ecstatic was the right word, actually. There was a constant influx of soldiers in and out to gape openly and mutter excitedly to their colleagues. Oddly, no one had really mistreated them, even gloating had been kept to a minimum. He felt more like a present that had fallen into a greedy child's lap than a member of the enemy's army.

And that worried him more than he wanted to admit. Surely Mustang wouldn't capitulate, even for two State Alchemists. Even for him. He wasn't worth West City and if the Cretians thought differently, they were in for a disappointment.

And Ed knew who'd they take that disappointment out on.

The tent flap was knocked back with an odd crackling noise, and Edward sharpened his attention as the uniforms came in. He was well aware they were being held in a meeting tent of some kind – obviously not the general's tent, but it was sizable enough to admit a small crowd. The number of stars on those uniforms told him they were more than just enlisted.

And even if he didn't recognize the pattern of stripes and the ranks, he knew immediately who was in charge. The sharp salutes were a ready indication of highest rank, and once he got a good look at her, he understood why.

She was tall, possibly as tall as Al, with pale hazel eyes, the high cheekbones that seemed to be a characteristic of the Cretians, and brown hair so dark it was almost black. Her forest green uniform was crisp and clean, no sign that she was on the campaign trail, and she ignored her aides entirely, striding past the salutes as if she was unaware.

She went straight for Franklin.

Edward craned his head a little, trying to get a better look, but she merely picked up Franklin's chin, tilting his head up to study him. "Green eyes. What a pity." Her voice was brisk and flat, but she released his chin gently, and Edward saw that Sorn hadn't resisted in the slightest.

"Call for Specialist Sapud," she ordered over her shoulder, in the same tone, and one of the guards hastened out of the tent. The crackle of the flap seemed quite loud in the silence after his departure, and once that was done, Franklin seemed to be of no more interest to her. As she turned on him, Edward noted that her eyes were quite intense and alive, almost unnervingly so in such an expressionless face. She didn't touch him, and after a quick once-over that focused on his automail she gave him no more attention. "Report."

Of course. She was the general of an attacking army, one that had just been delayed a full day. As far as she was concerned, they were two enemy soldiers, nothing more than a bargaining chip at best and dead weight at worst.

One of the men – many stripes, few stars – stepped forward and saluted smartly. "Reports from Central have confirmed General Armstrong has left Central and headed north, sir. All train routes have been altered in the last twenty hours to facilitate supply transfer toward Drachma." The man stepped back, and another came forward to take his place.

"The advance force reports a single patrolman was spotted just outside of the reported HQ in West City, sir. There is no evidence of increased military activity or reports of any influx of military supplies into the city in the past two weeks."

Edward couldn't keep a look of slight surprise from crossing his face. Calling off the 'fire drill' Sorn had set up was one thing, but Mustang hadn't done anything besides stage the great Amestrian/Drachma fake-out? Then his stomach sank. Maybe Tolya had decided not to play ball, and if it was a choice between losing West or stopping Drachma . . .

The second man hesitated. "Nidler has identified one of the enemy alchemists, General. The one with the automail-"

"Is the Full Metal Alchemist," she interrupted. "I gathered. Thank you, commanders."

Nidler must be the name of her alchemist. Though Ed was pretty sure she'd brought more than one. She was declaring war on a country with a fully militarized unit of alchemists, after all. It only made sense she'd learn the heavy hitters, and of course the 'automail' was a dead giveaway. Assuming they didn't try to take it off . .

The general sighed quietly, clasping her hands behind her back before turning back toward him. "General Terese Enora. The pleasure is yours, I'm sure. Are you prepared to negotiate the complete and unconditional surrender of Amestris?"

Edward cocked his head to the side, letting some of his amusement show. "Unfortunately, I have been stripped of my military rank for an impending court martial." The last time he'd used that excuse on a rather fearsome female general it had worked, after all.

This time was no different. She looked neither amused nor offended, and inclined her head slightly. "That is unfortunate," she agreed. They stared at each other mutely, the general apparently lost in thought, and just when he decided some kind of quip was in order the tent flap crackled open to reveal the guard, freshly returned with an enlisted.

"Specialist Sapud, reporting as ordered, sir!"

Hah. Specialist Spud. He even looked potato-like, with small, piggish eyes set too close together and a shapeless, lumpy body. Still, he moved as though he knew how to carry himself, and the general motioned at Franklin without abandoning her absent study of him. "Is that your informant, specialist?"

Edward broke their little staring match to glance at Franklin, who had suddenly looked up in alarm. It turned to resignation a second later, and the potato stepped forward, reaching out a flat hand, like he meant to lay it across Franklin's forehead to take his temperature. A moment later, the potato spun on his heels, saluting sharply. "Yes, General sir!"

"I was afraid of that," she murmured. "Dismissed." The potato saluted again and scuttled out, and the same all-encompassing silence returned. Even the general's advisors seemed to be holding their breath, and Ed wondered if perhaps their little delay had done more damage to the Cretian plans that he'd originally thought.

Their trusted informant had just been caught trying to hold them off, after all. Even with such damning intel, she was being cautious. They could use her paranoia to delay things further, if they played their cards right . . . Edward tried to catch Franklin's eye, but the boy seemed suddenly intent on the flap that had since closed. He seemed a little more present than he had before, as if he'd just realized the situation he was in.

The situation they were both in.

"There's only one viable option," Franklin said suddenly, and with far more authority than he had any right to. "Use us to buy Creta's way out of this war."

Edward carefully didn't change his expression. He'd never played games like this with Franklin, but he was willing to go along if the other still had a card up his sleeve.

"Ah, the whelp speaks," Enora murmured, turning to give Franklin an almost fond look. The change was instant, and Edward realized with a jolt that she hadn't been paying any more attention than Franklin had been. And now she was. "And why should I do that, my little councilor?"

Franklin's eyebrows twitched. "Because you can pass it off as a border skirmish," he answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You must have realized by now that you've been misled. That the information I gave to you was false. Didn't you wonder why none of your assassins were successful?" The boy shrugged, as much as he was able. "It was unfortunate that we were caught, but not entirely unexpected. The Prime Minister is fully aware of the situation. West City has been waiting for you."

Ed schooled his features and turned over those statements in his head. If she believed she'd been fully duped, then Sorn was right. They'd be released as a gesture of goodwill and to avoid Amestris' retaliation. Which was probably why they hadn't been roughed up while they waited. Too bad she'd spent the time to get her own intel.

Too bad Mustang had cancelled the damn fire drill. It would have backed up Sorn's story perfectly.

Enora smiled indulgently at Franklin. "The creativity of youth," she murmured, and this time her group of military advisors guffawed, also with surprisingly sincerity. "Why were you in our path?"

Edward debated taking over. He was quite excellent at lying, though he was beginning to think he'd met his match. And considering how much trouble his last fib had gotten him – and Mustang – into, it wasn't like he could do much worse.

"I wasn't convinced you'd move before we faked Mustang's death," he admitted, and her amusement faded as she turned to regard him. "Call it a border patrol of our own, if you will."

"I see." She bowed her head in thought a moment, then turned back to the party that had followed her in.

"You didn't really think it would be a visible fortification?" Franklin laced his tone with enough arrogant skepticism to stop her without seriously pissing her off. "We knew you had spies in the city proper. What would be the point if you were given prior warning?"

It was the best attempt at a save the kid could make, but Ed wouldn't have bought it in the general's place.

"When they give you the truth, notify me," she told the first commander that had spoken, and turned without another word. Just before she passed under the tent flap, she paused, her back to Edward, and studied Sorn a moment. "Do not harm my little councilor."

"I wouldn't dream of it, general," the commander replied, almost sounding affronted, and Edward raised an eyebrow. What the hell was so special about the kid-

Oh.

The commander gave him a glare for his surprised expression, and General Enora followed it, turning back to Edward. "You will find we do things differently in Creta," she told him coldly. "We don't send whelps to war." Then a bit of the chill left her voice. "You are living proof of how truly cruel it is, and I am sorry for what has become of you."

Then she was under the tent flap and gone.

Edward blinked again, feeling as if the world had just tilted three degrees. That was without a doubt the weirdest conversation he'd ever had as a prisoner.

At least now it looked like things were going to proceed in a more familiar fashion.

All of her staff but the first commander followed, and soon the tent was much less crowded. The commander gave him a once-over before he turned to one of the guards.

"Get Nidler. We can't do anything with him trussed up like that. And notify Luis the general has given her permission."

Edward kept his expression neutral as the commander gave him one more look. "Alternately, you can answer questions like a civilized human being," he offered. "If you're able."

Ouch. So because he had been a child in the military, he was now less than a civilized human being? Then again, there was a reason even her own citizens called State Alchemists dogs. It shouldn't be surprising that the reputation was that much worse in Creta, who had seen heavy losses even before Pride had become Fuhrer.

"Depends. What do you want to know?"

The man eyed him. Unlike his general, he was much easier to read. "Why did you attack?"

"We defended. You attacked."

"What were you planning to do?"

The truth, in this case, would sound like a lie. And it was probably better not to mention a Stone at all. "We were on a routine patrol. I didn't think-"

"So the answer is no." The commander's voice was hard. "You do enjoy wasting time, don't you. Perhaps Luis can waste some of yours."

- x -

Alphonse Elric fished for the watch in his pocket, but before even half of it had cleared the fabric of his trousers he was waved aboard.

"Please hurry, major-"

With a hiss the engine lurched forward, wheels spinning futily on the rails before they got a good grip, and Al realized the corporal wasn't kidding. He grabbed the iron handle of the traincar with his right arm, swinging himself onto the lowest step even as it started moving. The corporal reached out to grab his other arm before he saw the sling poking out from beneath his jacket, and he pulled his assistance back just in time.

"Thanks!" Al said breathlessly, and he meant it. Being addressed incorrectly notwithstanding, getting hauled onto a moving train by the shoulder he'd dislocated was not his idea of a pleasant way to spend the next several hours.

"I'm surprised they didn't send you north, sir," the corporal added as he stepped back as far as the tiny platform would allow. Al nodded his thanks again, sidestepping the man to access the door to the car.

"I'm sure I'll be heading there shortly." No sense in not keeping up Mustang's charade, even on a train that was probably completely full of military personnel, thus not Russell Tringum. Still, it was the last train out toward Jannai, the same train he'd taken earlier that week. All it meant was that Russ had probably caught the one before.

Maybe it meant that he could get a few hours of sleep. It was still pretty early in the evening, but he was wiped and he knew he could use it.

He proceeded into the car, noting the looks from the rows and rows of soldiers. The moment his chain was noticed a murmur went up, and Al winced as he thought of what this was going to do to Roy's proclamation of 'I won't send alchemists to the front lines.'

Well, at least he'd added that he would if a city was about to fall. And if Franklin was prevented from transmuting his army, it was a real threat. He would be surprised if Mustang _hadn't_ sent alchemists, just in case. To be completely honest, in the grasslands, Mustang himself would have been a good choice, but Al was pretty sure after the Irving incident that Hawkeye was never going to let that happen again.

When all this was said and done, he'd need to sit and have a talk with her. She hadn't . . . quite been herself since Irving. He saw her infrequently, so it was hard to pin down, but there was something just slightly different about her. With that mental note firmly made, he passed into the next car, stuffed full of supplies. Rations, blankets, tents, all manner of non-dangerous supplies.

Good place to take a nap.

Al eyed the pile of blankets speculatively before deciding against it. If he was younger, or his shoulder didn't hurt quite so much, definitely. But he wasn't, and it did, and hiding from the military was something he didn't need to do anymore. Besides, the civilian car was likely to be as empty as the previous train's had been. He'd probably have a nice bench all to himself.

With that thought in mind, he passed to the next car, sliding open the door and stepping inside quickly amid the suddenly deafening clatter of the car on the ties. He closed it immediately, lest he'd interrupted someone else wanting a nap, and then fully entered the car, looking around.

Roughly in the middle of the otherwise empty car, staring at him with a look of complete disbelief, was Russell Tringum. A shorter head turned at his expression, and Al found himself face to face with Avram Blane.

Well, so much for the nap.

Al grinned with relief he didn't feel, heading down the aisle toward them. There was a third passenger he recognized as Avram's wife, Lily, and she looked almost as surprised as Russ.

To say that he was taken off-guard was an understatement. Russ had started out with at least a six hour lead, so the fact that he was on this train and not the one before . . . maybe the delays had just worked out that way? He'd expected Russ to look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but not to see the same expression on the Blanes. Were they aware they were sneaking him out of Central? Or were they just travelling companions by chance? What business had Avram had with Russ in the first place?

A new, uncomfortable thought occurred to Al, and he inspected it from all sides as he approached the party. Nii-san thought Franklin had been getting a hand, that he had a partner. Someone who could have transmuted the chimera. Someone with knowledge of amplifiers and what they could do.

But no, Russell would have had no reason to help Franklin, even if he didn't know why the kid wanted the help. Chimera research wasn't Russ's style. He still preferred plants even to humans, let alone animals. And nothing but Fletcher's death would have been enough to make Russ reconsider.

"Lieutenant Ross is worried," he said without preamble, walking up to them and waving Avram back into his seat. "I'm glad to see you're all right, Russ."

The look of shock was quickly fading into something else, and a little warning bell went off in Al's head. This wasn't just Russ not happy to see him. Something was not right.

Of course something wasn't right. Russ would know he wouldn't let him transmute the remains of his brother. Wouldn't let him transmute a Stone.

"I'm fine," he replied tightly. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

The banter was normal, but there was an underlying tension humming beneath, and even more oddly, he didn't seem to be coddling his ribs at all. He was sitting rod-straight in the seat, which Al knew had to be uncomfortable. He decided to take a seat on the bench across the aisle, turning to face them.

"If Patterson had his way," he remarked easily. "But I told him it was more important to find Franklin before Hakuro did." Assuming the Blanes didn't know Russ's true intentions, the best thing to do would be to put Lily and Avram at ease, and take Russ aside later. He didn't think the other alchemist would hurt them, but god knew he wouldn't be thinking straight in Russ's position, and it was better safe than sorry.

"Al Elric, my boy!" Blane took his right hand again, pumping it enthusiastically. "Forgive me, I didn't recognize you! Dear me, what's happened to your arm?"

Al smiled and nodded his head in greeting to Lily. She looked a little pale, but she smiled in return. "Ah. I fell. And no, it's not as glamorous as it sounds."

"Must have been quite a fall." Avram eyed his shoulder with a practiced eye. "My skills are quite poor in comparison to yours, but would you like me to see what I can do?"

"Oh, thank you, but it's fine. And it was," he agreed ruefully. "Unfortunately, I don't bounce as well as I used to."

Blane nodded knowingly. "The years will do that." He appeared completely at ease, his brown traveling suit neat, and it struck Al as out of place. Lily seemed just as tense as Russell- "Did I hear you say you were still looking for my wayward apprentice?"

Alphonse nodded. "I think Hakuro's getting a little antsy about the lack of progress," he admitted in a lower voice, as if he was letting them in on a secret. "I'd just rather another alchemist was around when we find him, that's all."

Avram inclined his head appreciatively. "Where are you heading, then? Any new ideas?"

"I was thinking Jannai, actually," Al shifted so that he was slightly more comfortable on the bench. He and Avram looked like the only two not ready to jump out of their skin, and Russell couldn't have looked more disinterested in the conversation if he'd tried. "It seems to me that at some point he's going to get tired of running and look for something familiar. The town loves him, and they'll move to keep him safe. And that's fine, like I said. I just want to make sure there's someone on his side when he's ready to come out of hiding."

Blane nodded again. "Yes, much the same reasoning I made, admittedly. And I've had no better luck finding the boy than you." He blew out his cheeks. "I appreciate your concern, really I do. Did something make you think Frank would seek out Jannai sooner than later?"

Somehow the questions weren't as subtle as they'd been before, and while Blane still seemed personable he was missing that quality that he'd had the first time, the quality that had reminded him of sensei. Or maybe Madelyne Price had made him paranoid. Either way, it seemed as if the questions had another motive. That and Russell's stiff posture . . . just what the hell had Russell told them?

"Not really. Just kinda hoping, I guess," he half laughed. "Though now that I've run into Russ, our doctor will kill us if I don't drag him back in the next week or so to get a checkup." It looked like the only way to get some answers was to threaten their status quo, and if Russ had been hiding the injuries from Blane, maybe exposing them would make it a little easier to extract Russ without making a huge fuss.

"I doubt he'll get the chance," Blane murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and the warning bell chimed a bit more insistently. "Russell and I have entered a business arrangement, actually. Oh, but I forget myself!" He patted Lily's knee fondly. "She does so hate shop talk. We'll go find something to eat, would either of you like us to bring something back?"

Lily didn't protest in the slightest, rising as well, and Al nodded politely. So Avram didn't want to be in the middle of this argument. That was a good sign. But he didn't look concerned or surprised about the announcement of Russell's injury . . . "I'm sorry, Mrs. Blane, I'm afraid I forgot-"

"That's fine, dear, please don't worry! It's just, trains make me nervous," she explained hurriedly as Avram took her hand. "You two take your time. We'll be right back."

Russell just continued to look tense and unhappy as the two scooted past him to the aisle, and Al raised his eyebrow at him when Blane's back was turned. Russ gave him a flat, unfriendly look, and when the Blanes were nearly to the back door, Avram turned.

"Quietly, if you please," he added.

And then there was a clap. And then the bench was moving beneath him.

Al didn't so much as yelp, bringing his own hands together. It was awkward, the sling interfered a great deal, and before he could do anything else he was entirely cocooned in leather and metal.

It was child's play to transmute it away, but Russ had obviously used it to prevent him from seeing what else he was doing. Al instead turned the leather into armor, securing a steel cage around himself only a scant second before something slammed into it with enough force to bend the metal.

Alphonse brought his fingertips together and transmuted half the sling away, just to free up the arm. He regretted it pretty quickly, but the shoulder be damned, that last attack could have seriously injured him. Russ wasn't playing. It also had sounded like Blane had told him to do it, which didn't make any sense. It would be Russ using Blane, not the other way around-

"Dammit, Russell, wait!" he shouted through the cage, and with a flash of blue light a window through his armor was transmuted, revealing an angry, pale face. "Wait!" he repeated, already preparing to transmute out the floor of the car when Russ glanced away, back down the aisle.

"Hang on," he muttered, then with an absent clap he transmuted the rest of Al's barricade back into a bench. Al tensed, shoulder aching from the wrenching it had received, waiting for another attack. Instead, Russ turned back to him, expression still flat and angry.

"You have some astoundingly shitty timing, Elric-"

Al gave him an incredulous look. "What the hell is going on? You skip town without a word, ditch Maria-"

"It's a good thing I did, too," he snarled back quickly. "She'd be dead if I hadn't." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Dammit."

Al eased his arm against his side, looking quickly up and down the traincar. Blane must have left them to their fight, as he was nowhere to be seen. "Russell-"

"Blane put Sorn up to making a Philosopher's Stone." It was clipped but sure. "He told me himself. If Sorn fails to deliver one, he wants me to transmute one instead."'

"And you went along with-"

"He says the town'll be wiped out if anything happens to him," Russell growled. Then he clapped his hands together, turned his back on Al, and unnecessarily loudly transmuted the bench behind him. "He's got a partner, someone he's communicating by phone with. I figured you'd have caught up to us before now. Where the hell have you been?"

Al just stared at him, mind whirling. "Looking for you! . . . .wait, you _wanted_ me-"

"I left you all the clues in the world," he cut him off, still angry. With himself, Al realized slowly. "You're not an idiot, Al, and neither am I. Shit," he added, to no one in particular.

Al held up a hand, listening to the train rattling over the tracks, trying to digest what he was hearing. Blane put Franklin up to transmuting a Stone. Okay, that wasn't outside of the realm of possibility, particularly not after what he'd just seen and heard. An entire town dying if anything happened to him . . . that could be anything from this partner destroying the town to an empty threat.

And he was pretty sure even if he asked nicely, Avram wouldn't tell him. They'd either have to call him on it or let him go. Not to mention the information, as shocking as it was, didn't change the original reason he'd stepped onto that train.

It was a moment before Al decided to take a page from his brother's book, and just be blunt. Avram would expect the fight to be short, and they didn't want to be caught having a conversation. "So you don't . . . have Fletcher's remains?"

All the blood drained out of Russell's face. ". . . no. What . . . did you think-"

"Russ . . . we know the body in the morgue is a doll."

Somewhat unexpectedly, Russ just shook his head impatiently. "I know. I know an alchemist is involved in this, Al. Are . . you saying you think it's Blane?"

Al eyed him, trying to judge sincerity. "Russ, if you didn't take the body, then how could you know-"

"Hakuro's men aren't as tight-lipped as Mustang's," he growled, but Al didn't feel the least bit guilty. It had not been something Russ needed to know, because it would have made him go out and do something stupid-

Just like this. "No, Russ, I don't think it's Blane. I thought it was you. If you weren't considering human transmutation, then what the hell are you doing on this train?"

Russell Tringum looked away, toward the far door. He hadn't regained much of his color, and Al felt a small stab of remorse. He had forgotten _why_ he never took pages from his brother's book. "He came to me the day after . . . the day after Fletch died. He told me that if I helped him find Franklin the three of us could perform a successful resurrection."

Al closed his eyes. "Russ, you know-"

"Of course I know!" It was hurt and angry and everything Russ still hadn't dealt with. "The question was why Franklin's teacher would approach me, of all people, at that time. He wanted something, and I know that – that whatever happened to Fletch has something to do with all of this!"

Al's eyes snapped open as he sensed an attack, but it was just Russ's hand slicing through the air.

"I have to know, Al. I have to know what happened to him. And I thought Blane was going to lead me in the right direction." The muscles in his jaw slid beneath his scruffy cheek. "If you'd have caught us on the last train, we'd be fine, but Blane made a call just before we left. I assume it was to tell his partner when we were due to arrive in Jannai."

So if they confronted Blane now, unless they caught the partner at the station, they were going to find out exactly what the stout alchemist meant.

"Also, his wife, Lily? I don't think she's his wife." Russ clapped his hands together, working another quick and noisy transmutation. "Her bracelet is really a delivery mechanism for some liquid. I don't know what. Poison, explosive . . . no telling until I get a better look at it."

Bracelet . . . Al remembered it, flashing in the afternoon light as she'd set out plates. "She said it was a wedding gift from her husband-" Obviously not, if he wasn't really her husband. And she'd looked so grateful that he'd stayed for dinner . . . shit, he should have been paying better attention.

"He calls her an insurance policy."

Al frowned. If he really did have the whole damn town, what could one more person do? Was she possibly related to someone? "Insurance policy against what?"

Russ shook his head. "I don't know. We didn't have a lot of time to discuss it."

Al had more questions, but they could wait. "I'll hide in the supply car. Tell him you killed me and dumped me out on the tracks."

Russ shook his head. "No. You just walked through a car full of soldiers. If you don't get off the train, it'll be noticed immediately, and he'll think of that." Russ clicked his teeth together. "But taking you prisoner is too risky. You're an alchemist, so the bracelet is pointless, but he'll find another way–"

"Or you," Al pointed out. "The minute you get off this train you're as good as she is." Well, that pretty much eliminated all the options. "Look, better risk me than an entire town."

Russell hesitated. "Al, you're the only other person that knows what's going on. If we can't determine who the partner is . . ."

Then they'd be held captive for nothing, or even possibly forced to transmute a Stone. Not that he would, not even for a town-

Maybe it would _be_ transmuting the town. In fact, Russell was right. There was nothing saying that if Blane was willing to sacrifice Jannai if caught, that he _wasn't_ willing to sacrifice it now. He really was as good as caught. Even if they both went with him, there was a record of Al at least arriving in Jannai. If he didn't contact Mustang, there would be a search.

And Ed wouldn't stop looking, not until he found him.

"It's a couple hours till we hit Jannai. Think we can beat it out of him before then?"

Russ gave him a measuring look. "I thought you'd never ask."

Heh. Al gave the car a once-over. "How are your ribs?"

In answer, Russ walked over to one of the walls and transmuted a door. The wind was immediate, and quite a bit colder than Al had anticipated. Russell stuck his head out, apparently determining how to move to the roof of the car, then he leaned back in and nodded.

"Keep Avram away from Lily. I'll take care of the bracelet."

Al hesitated. Considering it was only a bracelet, if it was that easy to get off she'd have done it by now. Then again, if it was so delicate that jostling it would cause it to go off, the train ride should have done it-

Maybe that's why trains made her nervous.

"Are you sure?" He hadn't looked that closely, but it had seemed to be an intricate mess of silver and gems and if it had been transmuted, there was really no telling if setting it off would blow them all to kingdom come.

"Yeah. Just be careful with him."

Don't kill him.

Al nodded, heading off down the aisle, and shortly after Russ crawled onto the outer wall, the door transmuted itself away. It was almost like letting nii-san take to the roof of the cars on their very first mission, long before they'd actually been under Mustang's command.

Only this time it seemed a little less like a game. If Blane didn't give up his partner, they could be dooming a lot of people.

Dooming a lot of people that might already be past saving. Arei, Rachel, Zach and Bert . . . clearly they had no idea what Blane was threatening to do to them. They trusted him.

He'd trusted him. And now he couldn't even remember why.

Al waited another moment, just to give Russ a head start, then proceeded down the aisle. He cradled his arm tightly as he did, and as much as he could as he ducked between cars. The more Blane thought he had the advantage the better.

And he did. Al wasn't even sure what kind of alchemy the man studied. He said he wasn't as powerful as Franklin, but if the bracelet was something he'd transmuted and not manufactured, it meant he was plenty skilled, even if he couldn't pull off large transmutations.

If he'd been studying the plague, maybe he was a whiz with chemicals, like Irving senior had been. Or maybe-

Maybe he was just a whiz with diseases. Maybe he'd saved it, to release it on the town again. No one would think it odd that the same illness that struck a town would resurface even two decades later. Viruses could survive for years on simple surfaces like walls and ceilings, or a bacteria that could have been accidentally tucked into a can of beets or anything else that could be sitting on a pantry shelf.

Al entered the next car warily, eyeing what appeared to be empty benches. It was the second civilian car in the twenty-car train, nestled closer to the engine than the caboose. If memory served, the food car would be the one behind the fuel car, so that everything requiring coal or oil would be contained in the same place.

It would also be the worst possible place to have an alchemical battle. If Blane didn't care about Jannai, he wouldn't care about the train either. On the plus side, the engineer would have access to communications, so they could call ahead to Jannai and warn them. Al walked up the aisle slowly, using his cradled arm as an excuse to have his hands close together.

But he walked from one end of the car to the other, and found nothing. No one hiding.

He paused between the cars, transmuting a tiny flag on the front of the car he'd just left as a signal to Russ. Then he proceeded cautiously into the next car.

Blane seemed unsurprised to see him, sipping away on what looked like a steaming cup of coffee. Lily's back was to Al, and she didn't turn at the sound of the door closing. The waitress wiping the counter at the end of the car flashed him a polite smile. Otherwise the car was empty.

"I figured it would be you," Avram murmured conversationally. "They say you transmuted a tornado when you were only a child."

"I transmuted a Philosopher's Stone at nearly the same age," he lied glibly, making an obvious effort to release his arm. His shoulder was throbbing with the weight it was having to partially support, but he was pretty sure the stuff Patterson gave him would still let him move it around a little. "I understand you're both in the market for one."

He got a bemused grin. "You really expect me to believe you killed our friend Mr. Tringum?"

Al shrugged his good shoulder. "He'll sleep it off." He glanced openly at Lily, who still hadn't moved. He hadn't already poisoned her, had he? "You might want to go keep an eye on him, Mrs. Blane. Avram and I need to talk shop."

"Lily will stay exactly where she is." The voice was a little cooler. "Did Russell get around to telling you what would happen if anything became of me?"

Al raised an eyebrow. A little redirection never hurt, particularly if he couldn't get Lily away from him that easily. "You mean Russ wasn't working for you willingly?"

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, boy. Get in my way, and Jannai will disappear off the map. Permanently."

Al approached until Avram indicated he was close enough. "And I'm supposed to take your word for it."

"You are."

"Why haven't you asked me to transmute your Stone for you?"

Avram sipped his coffee. "Unless my colleagues have managed to kill your brother, I can't think of a reason you would."

It was amazing how quickly his blood could run as cold as the air outside. Blane was baiting him, and he knew just how to do it. "My brother can take care of himself," he managed, as calmly as he could.

The older man made a noncommittal noise. "I'm sure Russell Tringum would have said the same for Fletcher."

Al brought his hands together as he realized his mistake. Blane hadn't been baiting him – he'd been baiting Russell. And his bait was quite effective.

The ceiling crackled with alchemy, but Al ignored it, transforming the table in front of Avram into a wall. He channeled some of the heat of the reaction into the coffee, watching the older man's reaching arm knocked into the air by the wall he was constructing.

But had Avram managed to touch her? And where the hell was his array?

Russ was off the roof and in the car before Al's reaction had completed, and there was an angry shout as the boiling coffee encountered some part of Avram's body. He knew Russ would abandon their previous plan, so he leapt forward for Lily, who had flinched back without a sound and was now cowering in her chair.

"Come with me," he urged her, grabbing her shoulder with his good hand as another alchemical reaction lit up the car. The waitress, who had been behind the counter on the far end, was nowhere to be seen, and Al hoped she was hiding behind the register.

Lily jerked away from him, cowering further towards the wall even as Al heard a pained shout and identified it as Russell.

"Russ-"

"Stop!" Lily sounded petrified. "Stop! Leave him alone!"

Russell yelled again, this time with more difficulty, and then something happened that Al did not expect – the woman launched herself at him. He caught one of her hands, but with his arm in half a sling, he was as handicapped as he'd been when Russ had grabbed him. Her hand latched onto his left shoulder none too gently, and Al couldn't help an exclamation of his own.

God, it hurt. What Patterson had done to him in therapy was pleasant compared to how clearly he could feel each of her fingertips digging into his shoulder. His world was suffused with dim, and Al realized he had almost passed out. He shoved her away instinctively, landing hard on the floor of the traincar, and couldn't help another cry of pain. He gasped in a few deep breaths, blinking quickly to clear his vision, and then he saw Avram's livid face right above his own.

Al grit his teeth as the other alchemist reached out for him. Third time would be the charm; he couldn't stop both the other alchemist's hands and he knew he was dead if he let the other touch him. Since his arms were no good, he relied on his next favorite limbs. He braced his back on the floor, planted both his feet in the center of Avram's chest, and shoved.

Blane had good reflexes, and very nearly caught one of Al's ankles as he went flying backwards, but Alphonse had kicked him too hard and too fast. He crashed into the wall of the traincar, skidding down as he fought to breathe, and Al rolled painfully to his right, getting to his knees. He brought his hands together, ready to use the iron in the frame of the traincar to create another wall if necessary, and he saw Blane's hand stray to his coat pocket.

The array.

Al touched the ground, enclosing Blane in a cube of iron as another reaction started, and he was faintly surprised when his own reaction completed, and there was a neat iron box where an alchemist had once been sitting. He watched it a second, waiting for Blane to transmute it away, but instead, all he heard was a faint pop.

He'd trapped the alchemist in there with his own reaction. If he died-

"Shit," Al muttered, letting the iron melt back into the floor. Blane slumped bonelessly as the support gave way, and with that thick tweed jacket there was no sign of blood, no sign of what he might have done. Al watched him for another several seconds, getting slowly to his feet, then the car jerked hard as the emergency brakes were applied.

Lily's scream was nearly as shrill as the brakes, and Al stumbled hard. Blane took advantage, popping up like a jack in the box and grabbing for him. The quick stop had thrown him sideways, onto his left side, and Al used it his forward momentum, quickly flipping his weight even as he fell. He managed to land on his back more than his shoulder, gripping his left arm hard as the shock of landing reverberated through him. The tumble took him out of Avram's range, and when he came back up he transmuted every bit of thick cotton tweed on that half of the traincar into paper.

The brown traveling suit evaporated in a splash of confetti, leaving the startled alchemist stumbling forward in his boxers, overshirt, socks and shoes. With no pocket to support them, a handful of coins fell pleasantly onto the shuddering floor, and Al came forward quickly as the train finally groaned to a complete stop, kicking the coins – and the arrays that were drawn on their backs – out of Blane's reach.

The alchemist watched him with narrowed eyes. "You'd really sacrifice two hundred so easily-"

Al panted, holding his left arm tightly against him. It hurt worse now than it had when she'd gone after it, and while he could hear her sobbing behind him he didn't dare take his eyes off Avram.

"Russ?"

Lily sobbed harder into the silence, and Al heard the door at the far end of the car open.

"What the samhill-"

The engineer. "Get some soldiers in here," he ordered harshly, still not taking his eyes off Avram. The second he did, he knew the man was going to go for his arrays. "Russell."

Avram's eyes flicked to Al's right side, then back again. "He's killed her," he said sharply. "In four or so minutes the process will be irreversible."

Of course. Meaning that they'd have to let him go or Lily's death would be on their hands. "Russ-"

" . . . fine, m'fine." It was grunted, and Al touched his right fingertips to his left very gently, crouching down. Avram flinched, but the transmutation ran under his feet harmlessly, melting the coins into a lump. As an afterthought, he completed another circle, and watched with satisfaction as Blane's shirt and socks tied themselves together.

The older man crashed to the floor with a curse, and Al straightened, glaring down at him. Then he decided any words on his part were meaningless, and he turned dismissively, taking in the rest of the traincar.

Lily Blane was curled against the wall, her wrist clutched to her stomach, and she was rocking back and forth, sobbing. About three feet away Russell was on his knees, arms wrapped around his chest. He was paler than Al had seen him, and his breathing was shallow.

"Russ-"

He looked up, licking his lips before speaking. "It . . . wasn't silver."

"No, it wasn't." He could hear the sneer in Avram's voice. "So when you tried to remove it from her wrist, you drained it right into her-

"It was titanium." Al realized that Russell was ignoring Blane utterly, and talking to him. "Coated in silver. The titanium was perforated." Painfully, the alchemist uncurled himself, and Al could see he was clutching the bracelet in his hand. It seemed whole, and the gems didn't glisten as they once had. "Capsules . . . cellulose. Continuously breaking down, that was the timer."

Russell staggered to his feet, and Al was shocked to see blood on his shirt. Right side, exactly where the gash was. He must have reopened the wound fighting.

"You catch it in time?"

Tringum gave him a dirty look, and Al glanced again at Lily. She didn't seem hurt, just terrified, and the waitress was picking her way through the damage to her. She'd be better comfort than either of them, considering -

Considering she'd been living with Avram all this time. Hadn't he said something about a son of his own . . . ?

Al instead went to help Russ, but the blonde shook him off, painfully straightening his back. He held up the intact bracelet, watching Avram's shocked face.

"I'm not . . . a healing alchemist," he ground. "My specialty is plants. I heal on the side." He offered Al the bracelet, so he took it, turning it over in his hands. Russ was right. The wire appeared to be silver, but a simple resonance transmutation revealed the underskeleton of titanium, mottled with regular holes. Anyone who thought it was silver would pull the coating, and the contents of the gems would mix and be deposited directly into the body.

The gems themselves had been significantly thickened, and Al went ahead and replaced the cellulose with the titanium that had been embedded under her skin. Obviously whatever was in the gems didn't react to titanium, and that way there was no more timer, and no more danger.

Russ was ignoring him and lecturing Avram. "Plants are excellent filters. To harvest the purified contents, you have to strain them through the structure of the plant. It means you always have to transmute to determine what's there, first, since a plant is more than simple sugars." It also explained how he'd been able to transmute such a delicate, complex structure so easily. Plants were far more complex. The human body was far more complex.

Blane's surprise turned icy. "And what of Jannai?"

"Not our call," Al snapped, and he looked up as the near door slid open, pouring Amestrian guards into the car. There were guns, but a pocketwatch easily trumped them, and then Blane was being bound properly. Al let them do their work after telling the sergeant that their enemy was an alchemist, and he walked over to Russell, who was still clutching his side tightly.

"You okay?" he asked in a low voice. Russ nodded, the muscles on his neck standing out prominently.

"Bastard knew just where to hit me." He shook his head and swallowed noisily. "I don't know when I gave it away."

There was a brief scuffle by the door, and Al turned quickly, ignoring an ache in his neck. Blane was struggling in the soldier's grasp, and his eyes, when they met his, were blazing.

"Release me or Jannai rots!"

"I said it's not our call," Al repeated in clipped tones. "The Prime Minister will determine the best course of action." But inside, his gut was roiling, from both the pain and the possible consequences of what they'd done. They needed to get on the radio immediately, send soldiers to evacuate the town and update the Prime Minister. Of course, the nearest soldiers were probably on the train-

"We will continue nonstop to Jannai," he said without preamble, turning on the engineer. The older, scraggly-haired man had seen the watch, so he jumped up immediately and headed back for the engine. "I'll need to borrow your radio in a moment, but call ahead to the station, and tell them we had to clear debris from the tracks." They could probably evacuate the entire town on this very train.

"Yessir," the engineer replied, without a trace of sarcasm, and Al gave him a tight smile. So much for letting Mustang choose the course of action-

But Avram wasn't finished. "And what about Fletcher?"

Al heard Russ's breathing still, and he turned back on the bound alchemist. "What about him?"

Blane's smile was twisted. "I resurrected him."

Russell started forward, so obviously murderous that one of the soldiers stepped directly into his path.

"Major, sir-"

"Get the hell out of my way," Russell snarled, and Blane laughed.

"Do you know how to create a homunculus, Tringum? I do." The soldier holding him shook him sharply, but Blane refused to be silenced. "And your brother is going to rot where I've left him, unable to die, for the next four hundred years."

With a wordless cry Russell threw himself at Avram, and Al was right behind him. He managed to pull one of Russell's arms back, preventing him from transmuting anything, but considering how hard Russ was fighting him, he suspected the elder Tringum had planned to tear Blane apart with his bare hands.

"WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS HE-"

Never in his life was Alphonse so glad of the presence of soldiers. They acted quickly and deliberately, getting the prisoner out of the traincar while three of them held Russell back. They tried to be careful of his ribs but Russ was past that pain, screaming incoherently long after Avram was out of sight.

"Russ! Russell, listen to me, he's just fucking with you-"

"NO!" Russell tried to pull himself away from the three enlisted hanging onto him, and they rather stupidly let him. Al held up his right hand, close but not touching Tringum, and he was more than surprised when Russ didn't just hit him. "NO, Al! How the FUCK could he know that?!"

Blane had known just where to hit him, had know n that they suspected Fletcher had been transmuted into a homunculus. He even knew how to make one, knew that resurrecting a human would produce one. The question was valid.

If he wasn't involved, how could he possibly know? Had Franklin told him? Because that would mean that Franklin transmuted the doll, and that would mean-

"I don't know, Russ. I don't. But we'll find out, and we can't do that if you kill him." He thought about putting the man in a headlock, just so he could be on the radio and keeping an eye on Russell at the same time. "Calm down. He's not going anywhere. We'll get answers out of him, but not here, okay?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, I did it again. I overestimated my ability to be concise. And here I was going to cover the rest of Ed's night and Mustang's as well in this chapter, so . . . I did promise you Patterson, since you asked. :carefully does not look at Silverfox, JChrys, or KageSakura: Guess I should post the other half soon, huh. )

This chapter was long, the next will be much shorter. They're really the same chapter, it's just that anything over ten thousand words seems to give this lovely hosting site problems, and things get cut off. Twenty should be up momentarily. As usual, posted without a beta.

And, on a selfish note, I'm a little worried that I've let you guys down. No one's really said much about time travel as a plot device, and while I think it's a refreshing change, I recognize that this thing is far more long-winded than PAA the original. It's very useful to me to know what you guys like - and also what you don't. If you haven't said much in the past, please consider dropping me a note or review and letting me know how this sequel is comparing to the first one?


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

NOTE: This is a direct continuation of last chapter. Because I broke my promise.

- x -

Franklin tried not to show any interest in the proceedings, but it was the only thing going on, and in truth he wasn't quite sure what _was_ going on.

Full Metal had been stripped to his shorts, the automail gleaming in the lanternlight illuminating their tent. Once the general's alchemist, Nidler, had undone the manacles, Edward had predictably tried to fight back. Unsuccessfully, though Franklin was pretty sure both Nidler and his assistant would be unconscious till morning. The attempt had earned Elric a crack on the head that had almost hurt to hear, and now he was barely conscious himself, securely bound once again via a rope around his waist to the pole, this time with each wrist tied separately to the spine of the tent.

This time they'd chosen to bind him with braided wire rather than rope, probably to keep the automail in check, and there was no way he could bring his hands together. His feet were free to kick around for the moment, but outside of a few quiet groans Franklin wasn't really sure Edward was awake at all, let alone aware that he had feet.

A rather short, dark-skinned man Franklin had gathered was named Luis stood in front of Full Metal, feet shoulderwidth apart, arms crossed and laying high on his chest. He had stripped off his uniform jacket immediately, and now stood in the cooling tent in a short-sleeved cotton shirt. He never took his eyes off Full Metal, and he rarely blinked.

Franklin watched the man closely, looking over him for arrays, anything he could use. Sitting around was getting them nowhere, and he wasn't so inexperienced that he didn't know what was going to happen. Damn Full Metal. He'd turned the equation over and over in his head, but he still didn't see the problem. Velocity equals distance traveled divided by time. It had nothing to do with the speed of light unless you felt like putting it into the equation, and even then -

Franklin closed his eyes, wishing for a piece of paper, a pen, anything. Just double-check the math, then he could get out of here, transmute what was left of the army, and -

And it would have to be enough. Doubtlessly if Full Metal had spent that much time in his library, the piece of Craege Irving he'd found had been detected. Not that adding it to the Incomplete Stone had been useful at all, but if he had more time-

"Good evening." Luis' voice was throaty and deep. "I will begin with your automail."

Sorn blinked, focusing again, and found that Edward's head had twitched up, so it wasn't lying so heavily on his chest. He shook it clumsily, like a puppy recovering from a tumble down the porch stairs, and Luis stepped forward, fingers nimbly opening the port panel and flicking some inner switch-

And nothing happened. The automail arm did not come off in his hand.

Elric picked his head up most of the way, quite dazedly, and fixed his arm with a look. It was hard to tell if he was surprised or trying to gloat.

Luis was not fazed. "It is quite customized, but not of quality," he noted, in his low, almost soothing voice. "Why is that, alchemist?"

Elric didn't answer, other than to blink sluggishly and squint at the light, and Luis inspected the automail further. He found another panel, opening it and releasing another switch.

Half the arm clattered to the floor. Only it wasn't automail. It was more like a gauntlet. And like any other gauntlet, it had been protecting a forearm and elbow.

A human, intact one. Edward's right arm was pale and looked a little underdeveloped when compared with the left, stretched above his head, but it was doubtlessly an arm. If not for the wire bindings, the metal glove over his hand and wrist probably would have come free as well.

Luis cocked his head to the side, and Franklin suddenly smiled. He was just as surprised as anyone else, but it made sense. Obviously Full Metal had gotten it back at some point. Maybe in the other world, maybe not. But he'd hidden it in the automail so no one knew he'd actually committed the crime of human transmutation twice. And it certainly added a new level of confusion to the situation.

"So much for that," he muttered, almost under his breath. But he'd been right; Luis was very observant, and he heard. The man's head swiveled towards him.

"This man is not the Full Metal Alchemist," he concluded, and Franklin dropped his eyes.

". . . what gave it 'way?" Edward slurred.

Luis turned on his heels and faced the tent flap, clearly agitated. Then he turned again, inspecting the leg closely. Edward let his head drop again so he could follow the other man's movements.

"It's not real either," he admitted, the slur slightly diminished. "Sorry 'bout that."

Luis straightened angrily, glared at Edward hard for a moment or two, then stormed out of the tent without another word. There was a furiously hushed conversation outside the tent, then silence. It stretched on long enough for Elric to get his bearings and test his restraints. The time he had spent dangling from them as dead weight had forced the wire into his wrist, and he hissed as a thin trickle of blood ran down his left forearm. His right wrist was still protected by the armor, and Ed grabbed the wire with his protected fingers, twisting.

Of course, it was just a metal glove. It wouldn't give him any additional strength, and after a moment he gave it up. Then he turned, and looked directly at him.

"You okay?"

Franklin gave him a flat look. Hadn't he heard them say they weren't going to touch him? "I can't escape, if that's what you mean."

Elric's expression cooled. "Close enough," he muttered, glancing back at his hands before down at his feet consideringly. He put his weight on his real leg, kicking the tent pole hard with his 'automail,' but then the tent flap crackled and admitted two enlisted, both of them with rifles trained on his chest. Edward gave them a smirk, but he stopped what he was doing, and shortly Luis re-entered, along with the commander. Reinken, he thought the man's name was.

Reinken eyed Edward up and down, and he received a surprisingly neutral expression in return. "Sorry to disappoint. The name's Russell Tringum."

Luis was making quick work of the rest of the armor, and Reinken frowned deeply. "The Winding Tree Alchemist," he muttered. "Why the deception?"

Elric shrugged eloquently. "I do what I'm told. We all learned pretty quickly not to piss off the Flame Alchemist."

Edward was being just a little too forthcoming, and Franklin knew that Reinken was on to him. "And why tell me this now?"

"Why not? We told you before. Mustang knows you're here. By now he knows we were captured, and last I checked, holding citizens of another country against their will was an act of war."

Franklin watched the commander chew it over, and then Reinken glanced at him. He tried to make him expression as bored as possible. It was thin and Elric had to know that. It probably wouldn't result in their being let go. All it did was devalue his own life.

The tent flap crackled again, admitting none other than General Enora herself. She eyed Edward, who did not appear abashed in the slightest despite his lack of dress, and then she reached out gracefully for a piece of the armor. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the interior.

"This is well crafted."

Edward was watching her very closely. "Thank you. I worked a long time on it."

"So long that you've worn the joints," she noted, holding the shin guard up to one of the lanterns. "Have Nidler – no, that's right. Lanan can tell me what this is composed of." She handed it to the commander, who immediately fled the tent, and then approached Edward again.

"Luis is disappointed. Automail is an excellent tool for making one talk."

Oddly, Elric was silent, and then he turned his face away from her. Franklin was surprised to see a brief smile cross the general's face.

"There is one other feature of the Full Metal Alchemist that is legendary," she told him quietly. "His eyes. Tell me, how did you dye them? Perhaps a tattoo?"

Of course. Edward Elric had almost yellow eyes. Alphonse had the very lightest brown, but they weren't quite the same unusual color. He should have known better.

"So Amestris does have a Philosopher's Stone," she continued thoughtfully. "It makes sense that they would allow you, of all people, to use it. Or perhaps you made it, Full Metal?" She took a step closer, so that her lips were almost touching his forehead. "Is that where you disappeared to all those years?"

Franklin was surprised when Elric didn't move. He remained as still as a stone, his stretched ribs barely moving with breath. The general didn't back off until the tent flap crackled again, and despite being caught she didn't seem embarrassed. She pulled away slowly, watching him without blinking.

"You make this difficult on yourself, alchemist."

He finally looked up, as serious as Franklin had ever seen him. "You would march on a country with a Philosopher's Stone?"

"Are you offering an alternative?" Her voice was almost a purr.

He regarded her. "You'll be destroyed."

The general turned to Luis. "Continue. If he reveals anything noteworthy, tell me. I need him able to stand in the morning." Then she turned and ducked back under the tent flap.

Franklin watched the dark-skinned man look Edward over again. "I am disappointed," he admitted. "But I have an idea. Would you like to know what it is?"

Elric's lips quirked. "You're going to let me go?"

Luis laughed. "No! Much more exciting than that. I think you will be impressed."

Luis retook his position of crossed arms and braced feet while two enlisted half-carried, half-dragged a large, somewhat flimsy black tub filled with water into the tent. It sloshed quite a bit as they finally deposited it just in front of Edward, and he eyed it as the liquid dribbled down the sides of the tub. Nothing unusual happened as it contacted the ground. Just water.

One of the guards took out a length of rope, and Edward struck out. He was so fast, even though he'd been watching Franklin wasn't sure he'd really seen it. He caught the first guard squarely with his right foot, but the second punched him in the stomach, and as exposed as he was, it winded him enough that the rope could be wound around his legs. It was dropped to his ankles and tied, and then his feet were placed in the tub of water.

With the rope binding his waist securely to the pole behind him, he was unable to maneuver his legs over the high lip of the tub, and even if he could, the wire prevented him from hanging by his wrists. The soldiers centered the tub under him, then left briefly, returning after a moment with three small burlap sacks. These they deposited on the floor, and Luis stepped forward, picking up the largest.

While the guards left, he ripped open the bag, spilling a white powder into the tub. It flowed easily, and dissolved quickly. Edward was watching, but didn't appear to be in any pain. His struggles had cut his left wrist a little more deeply, and the blood was slowly making its way down his upper arm toward his shoulder.

Luis picked up the second bag, which made odd metallic scraping noises. This, too, he upended into the tub, and Franklin watched clumps of copper splash into the water. Edward took a deep breath, but he said nothing, and Luis smiled at him.

"Ah, but I forget, you are a teacher, no? You know your table of elements?"

The man reached down for the third bag, which sounded like it contained small pieces of gravel. "I have wanted to test this for some time," Luis admitted, watching Edward's face closely. "I think it will be almost as satisfying as the automail would have been."

Then he reached into the bag, withdrew a handful of small, grey fragments, and scattered them in the tub like one would toss crumbs out for pigeons.

Franklin couldn't see the surface of the tub, but Elric's body started to tremble slightly, and at some point he'd locked his jaw. After a moment he exhaled, quite shakily, and Franklin noticed what looked like a spark flash dimly where the braided wire met the long pole holding up the length of the tent.

Luis gave Edward a concerned look as another strangled breath left him. "Oh! Of course."

Then the dark-skinned man disappeared out of the tent flap.

Edward continued to tremble, and his breathing continued to sound difficult, but he didn't say a word, and after a few minutes Luis returned with a bucket. He upended it over Edward's wrists and head, thoroughly soaking him, and Full Metal slung the water from his bangs and face.

"How was that?"

Elric finally opened his jaw with apparent difficulty. "Was I . . . supposed to notice . . . something?"

Luis did not seem to appreciate this critique of his actions at all, and Franklin looked hard at the granules he fished out of the bag. Copper, water, something white that dissolved easily, and something that looked like a dull silver-

He watched it fall into the water, looking for a surface reaction, and this time Edward's entire body jerked. His jaw was clenched shut again, so hard his neck and cheeks were trembling with the effort, and his eyes were wide. Again, breathing seemed difficult, and his exhales were sharp and arrhythmic.

Zinc and salt. It was electrical current that was locking his muscles like that. He was soaking wet, which helped him conduct the electrical current generated by the chemical reaction up the braided metal restraints to the tent, and from there -

Well, obviously someone had tied it to ground. This was essentially electrocution as a means of extracting information. Adding the zinc by hand meant Luis could control the current and length of each dose, but of course generating a stronger current meant lengthening the time current would be produced by the reaction

Luis watched him with a practiced eye, and Franklin was surprised to see that Edward looked like he was trying to speak.

"My . . . m-mechanic's grrandmo. . .ther . . . has done w- . . . worse . . ."

Blood was running freely down both his arms now, and his hands had wrapped themselves around the wire. Probably locked that way, like the rest of him Hopefully it would support his weight before any of those cuts became too deep-

More zinc was added, and Luis finally got what he was looking for. A choked cry came from deep in Full Metal's throat, and Luis smiled in sincere pleasure.

"You handle pain well, alchemist."

An odd sort of half-shout, half-growl was his only response, and he waited patiently for quite a while, until Elric's breathing had evened out somewhat. He was walking a fine line, causing intense enough current to pain Edward without causing him to seize or die. Whether Full Metal was good with pain or not, if this kept up too long he'd probably have a heart attack.

Luis watched his patient carefully, and when Edward had composed himself enough to swallow, the dark-skinned man reached out and touched his bared chest with a finger. He was able to leave it there without flinching away, and he pursed his lips.

"Whelp, do you intend to let me continue?"

It took Franklin a moment to realize that the man was addressing him. "What do you want to know?" Clearly they'd left him here to watch Full Metal tortured, thinking it would move him to give them information, but there was none to give. He couldn't explain why the men he'd had ordered to West City were not there. Obviously Edward, thus Roy Mustang, knew those orders were bogus, but if Drachma had decided to move, it made more sense to sacrifice West and hold the north than to save West and let Drachma invade.

"I want to know how to replicate the feeling of automail reconnection," Luis murmured, almost in Full Metal's ear. "And here is a man who can tell me how much accuracy I have achieved."

" . . . I can't help you with that." Elric's tolerance for pain was renown, but then again, he was suppose to be a genius, too. And clearly that had been exaggerated. And it was unlikely, even if what was being done to him did feel like automail reconnection, that Edward would tell him. Or that, having achieved a similar sensation, Luis would stop.

It occurred to him, quite suddenly, that Luis didn't want intel. He actually _wanted_ to cause Full Metal pain. "Be silent, little councilor," Luis advised, and then he took another fistful of zinc from the bag.

"If . . . you were shooting for automail . . . adjustment . . ." Edward trailed into a strained laugh. "You're . . . not going to get even close with . . . this."

Luis narrowed his eyes slightly. "The current is the same your nerves use to communicate with the body," he informed them both. "It is as close as anything I have found."

He let the fistful of zinc trickle through his fingers, and Franklin watched Full Metal's body tense once more. This time, however, Luis didn't stop with a single handful. A second was added, not slowly as the others had been, but thrown as one lump into the coated tub. Given the amount of copper and salt in the tub, minus diffusion since the salt solution wouldn't remain polarized forever-

And why was Full Metal egging him on? Trying to make the point that being stubborn for the sake of stubbornness was pointless?

Full Metal screamed, the sound short and harsh through his clenched teeth. Franklin dropped his eyes, looking at the floor of the tent, but it did nothing to block out the sound, and he heard another dull splatter of zinc hit the water. Eight seconds into the accelerated chemical reaction, Edward was able to inhale again, and the sound that came out of him was more like a wail than anything else. He didn't have control of his lungs or his diaphragm, if Luis was looking for the best way to make someone scream this wasn't it. This sound, too, was short-lived, and Franklin found himself looking back up, to see if Elric's stubbornness had caused Luis to create a fatal amount of current.

But the splashing was only Full Metal's legs in the water, his body writhing so violently that it appeared he was actually thrashing in a fruitless attempt at escape. Franklin suddenly wondered if maybe he was. Electric shock could render someone unconscious, if he was close he might not be aware enough to realize all he was doing was damaging his wrists further-

Blood was staining the water on his body, making dull stripes down his chest and sides, and Luis was watching him closely.

"Be quiet, whelp," he murmured, when Sorn opened his mouth. Edward stopped shaking abruptly, a strangled gasp sucking air into his chest, and Franklin spoke anyway.

"I had second thoughts. The general was right. Elric tracked me down alone and we fought."

Luis ignored him, intent on Full Metal, and he hurled another generous handful of zinc into the tub.

- x -

"The train will proceed to Jannai, where it will be used to evacuate the townspeople. If there is insufficient room, some of the force will remain in Jannai until conveyance can be provided. They'll be sticking to their own rations and practicing quarantine procedures in the interim to lessen their risk."

Prime Minister Roy Mustang stared contemplatively at the small party of blue surrounding him. If it was a combat situation, he would have set off three explosions and made a leap for the window to his right. Unfortunately, it was a meeting situation, and he didn't have that luxury.

"Does anyone want to revise that plan?"

His medical officer gestured. "Depending on the pathogen, we can streamline those processes to minimize their risks."

He gave a single nod, and the officer left the table immediately. His logistics officer was going over the inventory manifest that Sheska had been able to provide, and he was making pleased noises. "We accidentally set this up pretty well. They have sufficient supplies to get them through the night, and we can leave those supplies in Jannai until we get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Mustang inclined his head again. "Anyone else?"

Headshakes all around. Mustang stood, signaling the end of the meeting, and he sensed Riza right behind him. "This information stays in this room, gentlemen."

Then he was out the door, proceeding not toward the hall but the connecting conference room, which was why he was stunned to find himself walking into his own office.

He'd actually used every conference room. Every single one had been full, and he had visited each one.

Roy rolled his head on his shoulders, noting with a small trace of amusement that just because all the conference rooms had been emptied didn't mean he had escaped meeting hell. Sergeant Sheska was standing by his desk at attention, a hefty pile of folders under her arm, and he waved her into parade rest casually.

"You can put those down, sergeant."

Her head bobbed. "Yes, sir, only there's no room your desk, sir, and I do hate to put these on the floor since they're the original records and quite frankly they're not cared for well enough even in records management-" She trailed off and quickly took a breath. "Sorry for babbling, sir."

He surveyed his desk, buried beneath reports, and surmised that her statement was, in fact, accurate. At least as far as his desk was concerned. "Can I help you, sergeant?"

"Actually, I was waiting for the colonel, sir," she said, even more apologetically, and turned to Hawkeye. Riza left his side to collect the folders, apparently unsurprised by what she found there.

"Marriage license states Lily's Blane's maiden name is Starweld."

Sheska offered her a second folder. "Her family tree doesn't cross any military personnel's. All of her relatives that lived in Jannai died during the plague there, and her guardians were Verona and Jonothan Bisker." A third folder was produced. "They have no ties to current State personnel either."

Mustang circled his desk before determining there was no good place to sit and still see what the women were up to, so he gave up and looked for a good corner to lean on. There wasn't one of those, either.

"Blane . . . the alchemist Alphonse detained?"

Hawkeye was deep into the report. "Yessir. Alphonse made mention that his wife was a special case, an insurance policy. He thinks it may relate to Blane's partner." She paused. "Sheska, this report states her guardians were from a town called Arturu-"

"Yes ma'am, it's the same town." Sheska's face fell and tone quieted, but she continued. "After the plague was declared gone, the town was renamed for superstitious reasons."

Ah, yes, the sergeant's fondness for superstition. He remained quiet, mulling things over in his mind as Hawkeye checked the reports. Of course, if the town had been renamed, then some of the records should have been pulled for the second name - "I assume you've already cross-referenced personnel listings from both Arturu and Jannai?"

She nodded. "Yessir. There are several State personnel from Jannai listing it as Arturu, but they have no connection to any Starwelds or Biskers." She felt into a troubled silence, and Hawkeye's gaze flicked to her for a moment.

"What is it, sergeant?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I was . . . just thinking about Fletcher Tringum."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, the Tringums had nothing to do with Jannai. Nash had moved them to Central when they were boys, and they'd gone to Mugwar's from there. "Why is that?"

She shook her head quickly. "I . . . it was the last thing I told Fletcher, sir." Her lips pressed together for a second. "That I thought it was stupid to rename a town, as if a virus wouldn't find it again if the sign was different."

Sheska had reported Fletcher's library trip and had already answered questions about his demeanor prior to his trip to the HQ hospital. It wasn't new information, necessarily, but Riza's eyes had stopped moving on the page, and that usually mean t something. "Arturu . . ." She lowered the report, staring at a swirl in the carpeting. "I remember seeing that name go by."

Sheska nodded again. "Yes ma'am. We have four enlisted, an officer, a base doctor, a State Alchemist, and the Speaker's steward all on record as being born in Arturu."

Mustang contemplated the list. The Speaker's steward, that was news. He was akin to a State-apportioned butler, and would have access to certain State secrets that few other personnel would. An ideal place to put a partner or informant, but that wasn't what had really caught his attention.

"A base doctor?"

"Patterson," Hawkeye murmured. "Wasn't it Timothy Patterson?"

"Yes ma'am." Sheska gave her a slightly surprised smile. "You're getting much better."

Sheska had told Fletcher that Arturu and Jannai were the same town, and then he'd gone to the hospital and asked for Patterson. Who happened to be from the same town as Franklin Sorn.

"Sergeant, why wasn't that correlation made before now-"

Her smile vanished at his tone. "It was, sir. I determined that Timothy Patterson's time in Arturu didn't coincide with much of Franklin Sorn's. His parents were also killed in the plague, and he was raised by a Roslin Miter before he attended medical school here in Central. He was admitted at quite an early age, but the professor who admitted him, a Dr. Ackernath, has no ties to Jannai. The Miters had no recorded interaction with the Sorns, Blanes, Starwelds, or Biskers."

Mustang rolled it over for a moment before concluding that Sheska had done her homework. Still, it was odd the doctor hadn't mentioned it, considering he knew damn well they were looking for Sorn, and it might well have something to do with the death of Fletcher Tringum. In fact, Fletcher might have made the same conclusion, assuming he knew Patterson had been born in Arturu, and may have gone to the hospital not because he was feeling poorly, but to follow up with the doctor.

And, if Alphonse was correct, met an unfortunate end when he found Franklin Sorn in the Records room rather than Dr. Patterson.

"Colonel-"

"Your weekly checkup is in twenty minutes," she replied.

Mustang schooled away a sudden, wry grin. She'd always been good at predicting him, but now it almost seemed like she was a mind reader. "Have the sentries call up when he enters the building." Generally speaking, Patterson treated him in his office, as the Prime Minister was often too busy with government affairs to stop by the hospital every week for his physical evaluation. All the alchemists that had been exposed to the Irving amplifier followed that routine, so Parliament had been reassured it was merely the young doctor's paranoia, and didn't necessarily mean the Prime Minister was in ill health. And they were certainly well aware that his alchemy was in fine form after last week.

But his office was rather full of all manner of staff, and he wasn't sure he wanted to share any information Patterson could give him with Hakuro. With any luck Fullmetal had already taken care of the problem of Sorn, but there was always the chance of complications, complications he couldn't forsee.

The colonel started away immediately, handing him the reports in her hand, and Roy couldn't hide the quirk of his lips, flipping open the top folder and looking over the information himself. Lily and Avram Blane's marriage license stared up at him, looking as official as he supposed they all did. He'd been present to sign Maes and Gracia's, being the best man, but he hadn't really studied it in great detail. And even if it was forged, that didn't really tell him anything he didn't already know.

"Did Lily Blane tell our personnel anything useful?"

The sergeant blinked behind her glasses. "If you mean pertaining to what relationship she might have to someone in the State military or Parliament, no sir. She was difficult to calm and the medic on the train gave her a mild sedative."

He just nodded, contemplating the Jannai situation a moment more before regretfully returning the sergeant's folders to her. He was pleased with Alphonse's find, getting a firm hand on Russell Tringum was a comfort, but there were unfortunately far bigger problems to consider, and he couldn't afford to dwell too long on a single issue.

"Any sign of retaliation from Drachma?"

The sergeant juggled her pile of folders, withdrawing one from near the bottom of the stack. "Briggs has not sent any reports to the contrary. A normal patrol passed them about four hours ago, but there's been no other sign of aggression." Tolya would probably wait until Creta or Aerugo had well and truly declared war before he moved, if he planned to. The diplomats he had left were still technically 'guests,' but he was fairly sure Tolya knew that was more for their protection than as bargaining chips. Until Creta moved, all of this was no more than a calculated risk.

"And the western border?"

She shook her head. "No reports, sir. We haven't heard from Major Elric, either."

There was motion at his door, and Mustang glanced up to see Hawkeye attempting to catch his eye. He gave the sergeant a quick nod. "Thank you, Sheska. If the general should happen by, please detain him."

The diminutive woman offered up a brave smile. "Yes sir!"

He contemplated her a moment as he crossed his office, bypassing two major generals in a heated argument on his sofa, and almost breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the outer office. Who knew the Prime Minister couldn't kick people out of his own office during wartime?

"Dr. Patterson has arrived early, sir. I thought it might be best to catch him in the halls."

He inclined his head, signaling to Master Sergeant Brosh that he wished him to follow them. They might need someone to run a message back to Sheska, and Hakuro was also insisting that he not move with less than two soldiers accompanying him at all times.

"Is everything in order, colonel?"

Riza watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Yessir. Though you should be aware your seamstress rejected the bouquet."

Cranky old witch. Perhaps women really did reach an age where his charm no longer had any effect. "Can you recommend a more matronly gift, colonel?"

They turned the corner and were saluted through by Goodman, passing into the main hall. Roy's eye slid to the empty table where the jade dragon had once resided. When everything was said and done, he'd probably need to head up a diplomatic mission to Xing, to reassure the emperor that all was well and to have it repaired.

"I'm afraid not, sir. I've never offended my mother."

He snorted. "Your mother is offended by the fact that you carry a gun." Her mother seemed offended by the fact that other people breathed.

"Actually, my father objected to my career choice, not my mother."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "You father was a decorated military officer."

They started down the long stairway. "The fact remains that I have no experience with jilted women over the age of forty, sir."

Mustang opened his mouth, pithy retort at hand, but decided to let it go. "Colonel, when was the last time-"

"H-Homunculus!"

The words died in his throat at the panicked shout, and Hawkeye flew down the last set of stairs, gun drawn. The call had come from the hall on the right, and he was already pulling on a glove as the voice registered.

Dr. Patterson.

Brosh had responded more to Riza's alarm than the call, drawing his sidearm as well, and Mustang pinned him with a look as he bounded down the last few stairs. "Alert the detail to a possible intruder." Of course, Brosh had been in the team that had gone to Laboratory Five, he might well know what they could be facing. Either way, the blonde gave a single nod and took off immediately, and Mustang hit the last landing, turning the corner.

Timothy Patterson had just finished collapsing to the ground, his black bag spilling on the floor, and he was making no attempt to pick himself up. Standing over him, a brown wig clutched tightly in his right hand, was Fletcher Tringum.

Hawkeye had him in her sights, and he froze, staring at them with an expression of complete surprise. The wig slipped from his fingers, finding its way to the floor, and then he opened his mouth.

And he also started to bring his hands together.

"Wait-"

Mustang coldly snapped his fingers.

- x -

"Define unresponsive."

Luis prodded the body at his feet, but Elric didn't react. The Cretian dipped his hands into the tub, flicking droplets of salt water onto Full Metal's face, but he didn't even blink. And it wasn't just salt water, it contained zinc oxide as well. It had to burn.

"His vitals are still strong." The officer - Franklin was guessing medically oriented by the design of his uniform alone - remained in a crouch beside him. "I would call this shock. No pun intended," he added. "Catatonia."

Reinken rounded on Luis, and the shorter, dark-skinned man didn't look even slightly intimidated.

"The general gave you specific instructions that he be mobile by dawn-"

"When he stopped responding to the treatment I ended the session," Luis repeated. "I did not expect anyone who had borne automail to be so terrified of pain."

The commander scrubbed a quick hand over his face. "Can you wake him, Ike?"

The medical officer had stabbed Elric with a syringe, but from his angle it looked empty. It also looked like the man had inserted it to the bone. "I can give him stimulants," he started doubtfully, "but to be honest I'd rather wait a few hours. His heart had quite a strain, and while he won't need it much longer I think the general would prefer him alive at dawn, even if he's unable to walk."

Reinken cursed, giving Full Metal a kick. He got the same reaction the others had. None. It had been extremely weird to see his body react to the electricity with no conscious response, it had taken Luis a long time to realize that Edward hadn't just gotten better with the pain.

He'd retreated from it. Franklin recalled hearing a rumor that there had been something wrong with Full Metal's automail when he'd returned through the Gate, and that he'd had surgery. Perhaps the pain truly had been too close to automail for him to handle.

Either way, he certainly didn't seem to be suffering now. And given how stupidly he'd been pushing Luis, Franklin was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd done it on purpose. Purposely made the pain so bad that it overwhelmed him. Not that there was any information Full Metal could have given them, even if he had broken-

"Is there any chance he's faking it?"

Luis shook his head, once. "No."

Oddly, Reinken seemed to take it as gospel. "Ike?"

The medical officer shook his head, standing as well. "Best advice, leave him alone and comfortable until daybreak. He might snap out of it on his own, try to take advantage. Otherwise we'll hit him with a stimulant and see if that doesn't wind him up."

The commander frowned, but he nodded, and Ike motioned at the tent flap. Shortly a blanket was passed to him, and he covered Elric's bared legs and torso. "You'll want to put him back in restraints. Nidler woke up about twenty minutes ago but he's still woozy. Better have Lanan do it."

Sorn watched them until Reinken turned his way, and then he studied the armrests of his chair intently. He could still hear the approaching footsteps, though, and when there was no way to easily pretend the commander wasn't standing in front of him he gave in, and looked up.

Reinken leaned down until they were face to face.

"Are you ready to tell us the truth now, whelp?"

Sorn regarded him coolly. "You're planning to execute him tomorrow, aren't you?" He didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Would you spare him if I told you why we were there?"

He got a frighteningly understanding smile. "No."

Sorn shrugged. "Then no, I don't."

Eventually Reinken got tired of staring at him, and returned to Luis and Ike. As they were leaving, he thought he heard something about 'ruined as well,' and then he and Full Metal were alone. The professor's chest was barely rising and falling, and even after another alchemist came in and transmuted effective bindings for his hands and feet, Edward never even blinked.

Sorn took a deep breath, stretching as best he could in the chair, and then sighed as two new guards stepped into the tent to keep an eye on them. Dawn was a good six hours away.

And as embarrassing as it was, he needed to pee.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Sorry, this is late for two reasons. One, I wasn't sure of the electrocution theory I used. Two, I got a call from a good friend who needed a favor, then took narcotics for a migraine and went catatonic like Ed there. :hides from everyone: Only I bet my morning was more pleasant than his is going to be . . . I did a drive-thru for typos, and found several, meaning there are several more. Please let me know if you spot any!

And thanks for putting me more at ease regarding my plot device there. ; )


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Special Plugs Time!**You guys did such a good job guilting Silverfox2702 into posting a fic that she _did_! It's called Between, a one-shot divergence from canon. And it involves Ed. And Mustang. Playing chess. And it's fabulous. You should go read it while you wait for me to post the chapter after this one. (Which really will be up within the next hour. Would I lie to you?)

- x -

"Thank you," he started without preamble, folding his hands on the table. The white cotton looked a little thicker than usual, but there was no tell-tale red array stitched into the backs, and Alphonse blinked tired eyes, wondering if perhaps he was just seeing things.

He almost had to be. The Prime Minister was sitting there at the head of the table, alive and well, and there was no colonel at his side.

In her place stood Goodman, back to the wall, watching not him but Russell Tringum.

Alphonse blinked again, taking a deeper breath to fight off the sudden urge to yawn. He didn't look toward Tringum, though. He'd done enough babysitting on the train, and if Russ looked a little out of sorts it was to be expected. To say he'd been unhappy about the traveling arrangements last night was an understatement.

Beneath that mask of exhaustion was an intense rage. He wasn't surprised Goodman had noticed it, even if Roy was being cordial. For the safety of the people of Jannai, the moment the train had arrived Al had ordered an automobile escort for Avram Blane back to Central. It was the only way to be certain that Blane wouldn't get his hands on one of the townsfolk, but it had also meant that Russell hadn't had the pleasure of questioning the man all the way back. Instead, they had sat across from one another in a cramped car for six hours, then another four on the transfer leg of their journey. They hadn't even disembarked before a sergeant Al had never seen before was ushering them off the train and into a State car, and they'd been in this conference room ever since.

No information on Blane. No information on Ed. No information at all. The sergeant was the first young woman he could remember who didn't linger to chitchat, and he was starting to wonder just how bad he looked, and how bad he smelled.

He already knew how much his shoulder hurt, and he was a little angry himself that he and Russell, after knocking themselves out and possibly saving hundreds of lives, were being treated as little more than prisoners by their own government. A breakfast of bagels and coffee was all well and good, but a visit from Patterson and a nice syringe full of something that induced fuzzy feelings would have been far preferable.

And that tone, despite the words, told him more clearly than if Mustang had shouted it that he wasn't about to give them anything but a headache.

"Your actions and quick thinking may very well have saved an entire town." He almost looked as if he wanted to go on, and then a wry look crossed Mustang's face. "I'll spare you the spiel."

The little warning bells, the ones that had gone off when Blane had been buddying up to him, clanged halfheartedly.

"Alphonse, as soon as you're feeling up to it, turn in a full report. Your current mission has been completed. The temporarily increase in rank will go into effect permanently as of the thirtieth of the month."

Al floundered for a moment. "Did Blane confess to arranging the assassination attempts?"

There was motion to his left, but Al didn't bother to glance. So long as it wasn't a clap, it wasn't any of his business. What Russ needed right now was sleep, but he doubted the other man was going to sack out after this any more than he was.

Not until he knew where nii-san was.

In a way, they were both looking for the same information.

Mustang gave him a surprisingly bland look. "Avram Blane has not been forthcoming up to this point," he finally murmured.

"Give me a key to the motherfucker's cell and twenty minutes." There was a lot of emotion packed into that quiet voice, and behind Mustang, Goodman shifted slightly.

Getting a better line of sight on Russ, Al realized after a moment. And that was just stupid. No matter how angry Russ was it wasn't like he was going to attack Roy.

Mustang, for his part, raised an eyebrow. "As you are well aware, the administration prior to mine, and the administration prior to that were less than completely observant of all policies and procedures involving enemies of the state. General Hakuro has served under all of those administrations, and as such, I have complete trust that his methods will be the most effective at getting the information we need."

There was a brief silence, and Al turned to Russ without thinking. The other man still looked as bad as he had an hour ago. His ribs had been re-taped on the train, quite a long time ago, and the troop's medical officer had managed to get him to take the drugs Patterson had prescribed, noting they were a hell of a lot better than anything he had in his field kit. And that had included the morphine. But physical pain and exhaustion aside, Russell was still in another kind of pain, one that Mustang needed to be a little more sympathetic to.

When Russell had found out what Al had done regarding Blane, rather than get a car of his own and pursue the only man they had in custody that might have known what had happened to his brother's remains, he had sucked it up and done his duty as a State Alchemist, and assisted with the evacuation of Jannai. Which was a hell of a lot more than Ed would have done.

Which was more than he would have done. Roy needed to acknowledge that, and he hadn't yet.

Tringum was staring at Roy almost expressionlessly, not twitching a muscle. "I want to sit in."

"That is quite impossible," Mustang responded coolly. "I would be attending myself if an audience would not have a negative effect on the method of interrogation."

That was certainly not something Al had expected to hear, and he turned it over a few times before he decided that Roy was being this distant with them because he was as angry as they were.

And that was a comforting thought.

Russell didn't seem to make that connection. "I wasn't asking your permission." He leaned forward slightly, hands flat on the table, and Goodman took a step off the wall. Roy raised his left hand only a millimeter or two, and the burly bodyguard stopped in his tracks. Tringum had noticed it, and he let his fingers splay across the finished hardwood of the conference room table. Showing them to Mustang. Either he'd already prepared a transmutation that would take him three stories down to the holding cells in the building proper, or he was demonstrating that he wasn't quite that serious yet in an effort to get Mustang to capitulate.

Mustang's gaze became a bit more chilly. "Don't think for one second that I am overlooking the sacrifices you have made," he said quietly, voice tightly controlled. "But let's be honest. You weren't on that train because you knew that Avram Blane was manipulating Sorn. You were there to manipulate him yourself."

Al would have gaped if he'd had the energy. Instead, he turned back to Russ, feeling a bit like he was watching a ping-pong match and knowing that Patterson would be screaming about his neck.

Russ didn't even flinch. "Al already told me that was the going theory. That I'd transmuted my brother, or I was going to nick the Stone from Sorn when he showed up in Jannai." He somehow managed to sound almost disappointed that they'd thought so little of him, and Al found himself looking down at the table. "When that bastard came to my door the day after- . . . the day after Fletch died, I knew he knew something. If that pisses you off, maybe you should reconsider having dismissed me earlier."

Roy took the criticism in stride. "Perhaps," he conceded in the same modulated tone. "However, it was a valid concern. Outside of Alphonse and Edward Elric, you and your brother are the only other alchemists in the world that should know how to create a Philosopher's Stone."

Al ran through the list in his head. Armstrong knew what a Stone was made of, but had never seen the array and probably wouldn't be able to come up with one on his own, seeing as his interests in alchemy had never included biological transmutation of any kind. Mustang obviously knew, and he'd done work on his own array after Liore, if Hughes was to be believed, but he wasn't sure Roy had ever seen the human transmutation array either. It was possible he saw the one in their basement, though, the night they'd tried to bring back mom . ..

"Are you saying you think Blane knew that when he singled out Russell?" How would he have, unless he'd known that Nash had done work on purifying Red Water for use in construction of Stones? Then again, he also knew how to create a homunculus, but he'd never done so, or he would have performed alchemy without an array.

Al blinked again. He vaguely recalled having that thought on the train, but he'd been far too concerned with getting everyone out of Jannai and then preventing Russ from jumping train to get to Blane.

Russell's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you getting at?"

"There's a lot of unexplained income showing up in your accounts." Well, when he'd said he was going to save the spiel, he hadn't been kidding. "How are you generating that revenue?"

Russ's breathing caught, just barely, and Al wondered whether he'd put two and two together. "I'm not." His voice was bitter. "Fletcher. He doe- . . . he did landscaping, greenhouse construction . . . lent his services to nurseries."

"And why was the money deposited into your accounts?"

The bitterness didn't fade, just changed flavors. "I've managed the money in our family since I was a boy." His face darkened slightly, apparently lost in memories, and his knuckles whitened as if he was trying to crumple the surface of the table like a piece of scratch paper. "What the hell did you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I thought." Roy felt comfortable enough with the change in atmosphere to steeple his fingers again. "The State military was investigated, and all alchemists with suspicious activity were flagged as possible informants for the assassins. I put Alphonse in charge of those investigations within the Academy."

"So what?"

"If you were an informant, giving away our position in the investigation would have been inadvisable." It was as close to an apology as Russ was going to get, and clearly he didn't find it nearly satisfactory enough.

"So you don't trust me," Russell's voice was low. "Then it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm not going to go home like a well-trained dog because I might be underfoot. That son of a bitch knows what happened to my brother, and I am not leaving until he's told me."

Al glanced back at Mustang, surprised to see the consideringly look was being given to him, and not to Russ. He didn't know what it meant, not even when Mustang spoke again.

"Alphonse, did you see Avram Blane transmute without an array?"

"No. And I think he would have if he could." That was an understatement. The guy would have pissed an array if he'd been given half a chance.

Mustang spread his hands. "Then he obviously did not transmute your brother's remains. If he knows, it's because another alchemist completed the task and told him. We know Franklin Sorn is moving to create a Philosopher's Stone, and we know he had access to incomplete Stone. I believe we can agree," and his gaze flicked back to Al, "that is sufficient to raise a homunculus if provided in correct quantity."

To speak so openly about forbidden transmutation in front of Goodman was . . . unlike Mustang. Not unless he had all the cards. "So you're sure it was Sorn?" The only way he'd know for sure- "I take it nii-san caught up with him?"

Mustang's considering look hadn't left. "Edward has yet to report back."

"You don't know that he's even been - you don't know that he didn't take the remains," Russell interrupted. "You're assuming Blane didn't take them just to create the possibility. And even if that bastard said it was Franklin, I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then as soon as Franklin Sorn is in custody, I will notify you," Mustang promised smoothly, and Al heard the door closing. They were both too tired, and he hadn't seen Russ walking right into that. "Until that time, I believe it would be prudent for you to go home. You look dead on your feet, and while I don't doubt you could transmute a tunnel to Blane's cell, you would be able to accomplish little else."

Tringum had gotten off easy, just like he had, in that neither of them had really used Irving's amplifier for any length of time. Even without that problem to contend with, Mustang probably wasn't far off the mark. Russell was too exhausted to pull off that scope of transmutation and still expect to get up and walk afterwards. He would be easily subdued by the guards even if he tried it, and Hawkeye's absence in their meeting seemed even more obtrusive.

She was probably down there, making sure that Mustang's interests in the interrogation would be protected.

Russell may not have come to the same conclusion, but he was clearly looking for a way to argue the point. Unfortunately, logic was an excellent weapon against a Tringum. Russ was pragmatic and down to earth, he was a scientist perhaps more than he or nii-san. His knuckles were still white, but some of the intensity had left his eyes.

"Did he say that Sorn transmuted my brother?"

Mustang's eyebrow raised again. "If he did, would you leave Central to assist in locating him?"

Tringum was silent for a long time. "If I thought I knew where to look, yes."

"Do you?"

A bitter look. "I sure as hell wouldn't be here if I did."

Roy pursed his lips, his visible eye narrowing slightly. "I appreciate your honesty."

"Not enough to tell me what you're hiding, though, right?" Russell's almost-smile was enough to recapture Goodman's attention. "You're going to do it again, aren't you. Kick me out of the goddamn loop and talk to Elric about it."

Roy took a deep breath, expelling it without an audible sigh. "That had been my intention," he admitted outright, and this time Al stared quite openly at him. He'd just won, for all intents and purposes, and now he was going to give Russ more ammunition? "However, you've shown considerable self-control, more than I expected."

This served to surprise both of them enough to straighten slightly in their seats, and Mustang's expression became wry. "Alphonse, are you in as pitiful shape as you look?"

Obviously not pitiful enough, if the sergeant Mustang had ordered to pick them up was any indication. "My arm is killing me, and I'd love to spend a few minutes with the doc, but I'll live."

Oddly, a dark look crossed Roy's face, so briefly that Al wondered if he'd imagined it. "I was presented with a unique problem last night. I could use your expertise."

Al inclined his head. "And Russ?"

"If you'll agree to be one of my well-trained dogs again, and not get underfoot, I would value your opinion as well."

It was the most obvious baiting that Mustang had done yet, but whether Russ realized it or was just so relieved to be included, he simply gave Roy a particularly unpleasant look before also jerking his head in assent.

And then Mustang got smoothly to his feet, and without another word, proceeded out into the hall.

Al exchanged a glance with Russ, then stood. They were both probably only going to get that invitation once, and Mustang's line of questioning had made his expectations pretty clear. Roy expected him to keep Russ in line, on the off chance he tried something. And if he didn't manage to keep an eye on Russ, it looked like Goodman would.

Of course, Goodman was probably not going to take any chances, considering the country was going to war on one front or the other, and if anything happened to Mustang on his watch, Al didn't want to even contemplate Hawkeye's reaction. Not that she would take it out on Goodman.

She'd take it out on herself.

They followed Mustang silently down the long flights of stairs to the main hallway, and from there they took a sharp left down a service corridor Al had never seen. It was quite narrow, allowing them single-file only, and Goodman remained between the Prime Minister and them. A few more twists took them to a hall that Al was pretty sure was continuing parallel with the main hall a story above them. They stopped before what appeared to be a regular, unlabeled door, and Mustang opened it to reveal an elevator shaft.

An empty one. The car was currently not at their floor.

Mustang hit a button on the inside of the doorframe, and they waited a moment as the wire started to turn. Al tried to calculate where the shaft went above their floor. Was this one of the entrances Pride had used to gain access to the city below Central? Had a human transmutation circle been found there after all?

Russ, too, seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Where does this lead?"

Roy's look was much more serious than he'd been in the conference room. "As I said before, the previous administrations handled things differently. This is the service elevator to the sub-basement, and has direct access to the high-security branch that doesn't seem to show up on building schematics."

He did not say how he knew about them, and they did not ask. Though it was probable Mustang was either asked to join the previous administrations in their torture of key witnesses, or Sheska had found out about the elevator on some obscure report.

Al turned to Russ. "Hey, when you pretended to be us, where did Pride put you, that Maria let you go?"

"Basement," he muttered. "I didn't realize there was a floor below that one." Then again, there was a damn _city_ below that.

The car arrived with a healthy clang, and the four of them piled on. It was a remarkably short trip to the sub-basement, in that this elevator worked on a system by which the passengers in the elevator controlled the speed of descent and ascent. Goodman had apparently been there more than once, and he dropped them a bit faster than one might usually descend. Mustang didn't appear to care in the slightest, but the feeling of falling was a little unpleasant to Al, possibly for the first time in his life.

Fantastic. One bad fall and now he was afraid of elevators.

They arrived with the same clang, and stepped out into what appeared to be a perfectly normal hallway. Mustang took a right and they followed, through several locked doors and nods from security personnel Al had never seen before. Goodman seemed familiar with all of them, though true to himself he never gave anyone so much as a ghost of a smile, and shortly they found themselves in a copy of the cells above, the ones that resided in the basement. A long hallway of bars.

Mustang proceeded through them without pause, despite the fact that two of them were inhabited, and Al glanced into the dark cells uneasily, noting blazing eyes staring back out of gaunt faces.

"Alchemists incarcerated by Bradley." Mustang's voice was clipped. "Kimblee was an angel compared to them."

Despite his voice and the probably unusual fact that there were visitors at all, the prisoners didn't make a sound, and they were ushered through another door, into a hallway exactly like they'd left.

Only this hallway had lots of doors, with only tiny barred windows in each. And this hallway was a bit more active than the last.

There were uniforms everywhere, as well as several white-coated doctors, and Alphonse cast a glance back at Russ. The older man looked wary but not like someone about to transmute a big steel trap around them and hurry on to find Blane. He seemed content, for the moment, to see where Roy was going with this, and Al had to admit the same curiosity. Who could be down here that would require either the level of security or secrecy?

Did it have to do with Blane's partner?

"You found Avram's contact, didn't you."

Mustang continued to walk, ignoring the sharp jerks to attention and salutes he was receiving. "I'm hoping you can tell me."

They stopped about halfway down the hall, entering one of the cells, and Al found that the first cell was in fact a staging room, and at the end, directly across from the first door, was a second one just like it. They went through this door as well, and found themselves staring at a large room containing three barred cells. One of those cells had an occupant.

Timothy Patterson was huddled at the end of a tiny cot, his back to the stone, and his eyes flickered open at the sound of their entrance. Then they widened. "Russell?" His voice was heavy and almost –

Reluctant?

Russell stared at him a moment, confusion evident on his face, and then he turned to Mustang. "Are you serious?"

Goodman had come into the room with them, and he gave a nod before two other soldiers entered as well. They pulled the door closed behind them, leaving them all staring at one another in almost perfect silence. Patterson had eyes only for Russ, so Al quietly studied Mustang.

He looked as he always did, upright and somber, and he had a quality about him that reminded Al a little of the time Roy had hunted them down, after Liore, to yell at Ed for not trusting him. Coiled. Ready for a fight. Or ready for something unpleasant.

What could be unpleasant? Patterson was . . . well, he was Patterson. What the hell was he doing in a ten by ten cell with a cot, sink, toilet, and rather fetid drain in the floor?

Al turned it over even as Mustang was silent. Patterson was in the hospital, and he had the time. He insisted that the first body he examined was real, but the second was a doll. Conceivably he could have been lying, which possibly meant that Fletcher was in fact alive and well-

Patterson wasn't in an alchemist's chair, though. How could he be the contact and not be an alchemist?

"What the hell is he doing in there?" It was Russ again, frustrated at having to ask twice, and Roy finally replied.

"Last night on his way to a routine medical examination he was attacked and incapacitated. The circumstances were questionable, and more attention was given to him than usual by my security staff." Patterson was still staring at Russell with a look of . . . something indescribable on his face, maybe mostly concealed dread? Though Russ was oblivious, still glaring at Roy.

"Included in his medical bag was an unlabeled vial of liquid. Upon closer examination, that fluid turned out to be a commercial drug known as Raplon, an instantly acting paralytic. It had been combined with an unknown substance that caused it to break down in the presence of air. Nitrogen, to be precise. During the breakdown of the compound it would form smaller molecules that would bond with the Raplon, rendering it inert and disguising it from even intensive blood screenings."

Mustang paused, apparently waiting for questions, and Al's brain tried to focus. A paralytic, combined with something that would make them both break down in the presence of nitrogen. So the paralytic would only work for as long as it took to be exposed to enough nitrogen, at which point it would no longer work as a paralytic, and it would no longer be detectable.

Of course, a paralytic in a vial wasn't meant to be ingested orally, so the only way it would come into contact with nitrogen was in the blood –

Al actually shook his head. No. That was insane, that would imply-

"No," he heard himself say aloud. "No, that's-" But it wasn't impossible. He was famous for his med school concoctions. He was supposed to have been in the apothecary when the nurses sent Fletcher down there. The doll, at any rate, seemed to have died of heart failure, and of course a sufficient dose of a muscular paralytic would fit that bill. "How much?"

"Enough to kill several people of Alex Armstrong's stature."

"He was coming to treat you, wasn't he." It went without saying that an attempted assassination of the Prime Minister would land someone in a cell like this, and throughout Mustang's speech Patterson hadn't uttered a word, and hadn't taken his eyes off Russell.

Waiting for him to get it. Waiting to see what he'd do.

"Despite evidence and opportunity, the doctor has not given us a motive," Roy continued, almost mildly. "Outside of knowing that he was born in Arturu, later named Jannai, we have no other links to Sorn or Avram Blane." Basically meaning they couldn't charge him unless he confessed. Or course, it also meant it was illegal to hold him, and while Roy had mentioned the previous administrations' lack of respect for those rules, that had seemed to indicate that he didn't agree.

"He has been very tight-lipped on the matter, and I suspect that the two of you could prove to be helpful in relieving him of his reluctance."

. . . that very much sounded like something Mustang knew better than to ask of either of them, and Patterson seemed to agree, because he appeared to grow a little more pale. Still, he didn't say a word.

"The paralytic . . . what was it for?" He would ask questions, maybe Mustang was alluding to their relationship with the doc. God, he'd sat oblivious in Patterson's office, not a day ago, if Patterson wanted to eliminate threats to Blane then why wouldn't he have killed him then and there? A paralytic would prevent any type of alchemy but especially his –

Especially Fletcher's.

Patterson opened his mouth, finally tearing his eyes off the stock-still Russell. "As I told the Prime Minister, I keep it there at all times as a treatment against seizure. Particularly for the alchemists that had been exposed to Irving's amplifier." It was hoarse but otherwise perfectly logical. Perfectly calm.

It sounded like the truth.

"Did you kill my brother?" Clearly Russ was having as hard a time dealing with this accusation as he was. Okay, so the doc had opportunity and a paralytic that would kill. He was a doctor, his answer was reasonable, why would Mustang make the leap based on so little evidence?

He wouldn't. He had to have something else.

Patterson looked back at Russell, taking a breath to speak but hesitating. "Russell, I-" But then he stopped.

Al's stomach plummeted.

To his amazement, Russell remained where he was, as if part of the ground himself. "If I ask Blane where he got my brother's body, will he tell me it was from you?"

A little tremor of something seemed to cross the doctor's face. "I-"

Russ finally moved – he took a step back, towards the door to the staging room. "Because I would be happy to do that," he continued, voice brittle. "I've been meaning to catch up with him since last night, and this is a perfect excuse to go do so."

For a moment, it looked like Patterson had forgotten to breathe. When he spoke, it was not to Russell, though.

"He's really here?" It was just a whisper, and it was directed at Al. The doctor was searching his face desperately for something, and feeling a little uncomfortable with the admission, Al nodded once.

Patterson continued studying him, for so long that Russell lost interest and took another step toward the door.

"What happened?" It was no louder than before.

Al hesitated, then looked at Mustang. Roy gave him nothing, and it occurred to him, much like the sudden realization of hunger after a prolonged period of focusing on research, that Roy was manipulating them again. He'd brought them down there for a reason, but that reason was to prove something to Patterson, not to him.

"Blane told Russ if he helped him find Franklin, the three of them could resurrect Fletcher." It was so weird to say that when Russ was standing practically behind him, still in the room. "Russ didn't trust him, but he played along and went. I caught up with them, and Blane called our bluff." He wasn't sure what other details the doc would want. "He lost." Then it clicked. "His threat to take out Jannai – that's been eliminated. The town was evacuated . . . "

The doctor actually leaned forward, more obviously tense than he had been the entire time. "I . . . I see," he said carefully. "Was he traveling alone, or –"

"His wife is fine." She was also from Jannai –

The insurance policy.

"The bracelet is off. She's fine."

But the news didn't seem to relax the doctor in the least. "That's good, that's great. Is she with them now, or was she kept as a special witness?"

It was an odd question to ask, and Al turned to glance again at Mustang. "I don't know," he admitted. He assumed she went to the barracks, since the people of Jannai were still under guard. Against the partner. Against maybe Patterson. His line of questioning was suspect, if he was an alchemist he could get out of the cell instantly, track her down-

"The only information I have is what I was given by you," Roy answered the unspoken question quietly. "That the bracelet was removed successfully and that she was resting after receiving a mild sedative."

The doctor swallowed, nodding though it was clear, for the first time, that he wasn't feeling the motion, and Russell's voice was positively acidic.

"Unhappy that your latest concoction didn't manage to kill her?"

"It wasn't mine," he murmured, almost distractedly. "I don't even think it was Avram's, not originally." He looked up, not at them but at Mustang. "Keep her away from them." It was imploring. "There's no guarantee that she wasn't exposed-"

"She wasn't," Russell snapped. "I removed it myself. Nothing escaped."

Patterson gaped for a moment, then quietly laughed, shaking his head. When he looked up, Al was stunned to see that he was close to tears.

"The bracelet is the plague," he said, more quietly still. "There's no incubation period because she already has the virus. They all do, the entire town." He took a deep breath. "Me," he added. "The contents of the bracelet were a protein marker that would exude from her sweat glands and signal the virus to become active again. Once exposed to that protein, death would be almost immediate. Seventy-two hours at best."

Al took a breath to clear his head. "You knew about it?"

The doctor gave a single nod, then swallowed. "I found it in my own blood. In med school," he added, with a trace of a broken smile. "I didn't realize – I knew it had been engineered, but I thought that was part of the reason Avram couldn't really cure it. I presented my findings to him only to find out he was the engineer." Another soft laugh. "You can imagine how that went over."

"Why?" Al was surprised that his voice was still so matter-of-fact. "Why infect the town?"

"He's afraid to die," Patterson said with a shrug. "Same reason he wants the Stone, I expect. He was experimenting with ways to change the composition of human cells, to stop aging. A virus is the only thing small enough to affect a cell at a time, but eventually all of them, and if he could affect the way cells replicate . . . he'd risk cancer, of course, but it could significantly increase his lifespan."

Al had a terrible feeling he knew where this was going. "You said the virus wasn't Avram's, though-"

"No. He wasn't brilliant enough for that. I don't know where it came from."

"Busse," Al murmured, then glanced at Mustang. "I remember thinking it sounded similar to the virus we saw in Busse, that Dante was using to turn the people to stone." Then his eyes widened. "That may have been why she was pursuing that research in the first place. The longer she could keep a body alive, the fewer Philosopher Stones she'd need." It also explained how Blane could know about homunculi without having ever transmuted one. He'd been working for Dante, at least indirectly.

Roy didn't really respond, and Al realized it was rather moot. He turned back to Patterson, dreading the answer. "Fletcher figured something out, didn't he."

Figured something out because he'd asked him to look up records on Blane.

Russ had been right. His investigation had had something to do with Fletch's death.

The doctor hesitated, then turned back to Russ. "I'm . . . I didn't think . . . I didn't think Franklin would get caught in time." His looked like he wanted to continue, but he didn't, and he met Russell's gaze directly. Al didn't turn; he did not want to have the memory of what Russ's eyes must look like.

"You thought Franklin would bring him back?"

Patterson took an unsteady breath, starting to speak before shaking his head helplessly. "At the time, I thought Sorn was too far ahead of you. He wanted . . . to change history, to take the cure to the plague back before it even started. If he succeeded, none of . . . of this would have happened. Would have mattered. He was so sure, and he's such a smart kid . . ."

This news was almost as staggering. Sorn wanted a Stone . . . so he could time travel? It sounded like something out of a Jules Verne novel, though Al knew no such books had been written here. Still, it was a hell of a way to get around the problem of resurrection being impossible.

So Patterson thought there was no consequence. If he could help Franklin, everything he did wouldn't mean anything. Avram would never take the town hostage, he would never have to move to protect the man. He would never have killed his own patient.

Except that would cause a paradox, of course. Al carefully modulated his voice, glancing at Roy. "If that's what he intends, we need to stop him at all costs."

Roy just inclined his head, once. "I agree."

Al shook his head, unsure how much to say. A paradox in time would cause the timelines to branch . . . or to rupture altogether. Life as they knew it would end. "I'm not sure you really know what I'm getting at, here." Screw protecting West. Find Sorn.

Mustang waved a hand. "Brief me later." His jaw was set, eye hard, and Al knew he wasn't liking what he was hearing.

"So you killed him," Russ finally ground, voice hoarse. "Fletcher asked you a question you didn't like, and you killed him."

Patterson licked his lips. "I did. I did," he insisted, again in Mustang's direction. "I stayed with him and confirmed. No pulse, no pupil activity. The paralytic would have stayed in his blood for at least eight minutes. Even if someone had found him in that time, resuscitation would have been impossible. After, damage to his brain would have been too extensive. "

For a moment, the insistence rubbed Al entirely the wrong way. Clearly he wasn't proud of himself – then it fully sunk in. That was why Patterson had insisted the body was a doll. He knew the body should not have been a doll because he'd made damn sure Fletcher was dead. That's why he'd been so bothered by the discovery that the body had been replaced.

But that would mean – "Do you know who replaced the body?"

Patterson shook his head. "No. No I don't."

"Was it Blane?"

The doctor looked back at Russell. "I – no. He was just as conce-surprised about it as I was."

Of course, Blane could have been stringing him along. Either way, there wasn't much more information to get from him. "And Blane told you to kill Mustang?" There was a third click, and this time Al was almost afraid his brain was going to break altogether. "The phone call-"

He'd been sitting in the room when Patterson had gotten that order.

The doctor swallowed again, watching the floor as if he expected to see it moving. Then he looked up, once more to Mustang, and he smiled.

"I know I have no more favors to ask, but please don't tell them."

Roy's expression gave away nothing. "You're right," he simply replied, then ignored the doctor completely, focusing on the two other alchemists in the room.

"Was there anything else you wanted to ask?"

The exchange was highly suspicious, but for the life of him Al couldn't think of anything Mustang could know - if he hadn't known any of this - that Patterson wouldn't want them to know. Russell was completely silent, so Al turned to the cell again, not surprised to see that the doctor was still watching Mustang.

"Were you the informant? For the assassins?" But then it occurred to him that it could have been more. "And how did you meet Breda?"

Patterson's head dropped fractionally. "I guess I didn't realize . . ." he muttered, almost to himself, then coughed. "I gave information to the Cretians once, before Mustang was appointed, on behalf of Blane. And yes," and he looked up, "I arranged to meet and befriend Heymans to get closer to Mustang. But the two of you showing up . . . that was like ten birthdays rolled into one for Avram. It gave me respect, station, information . . . everything that he needed."

The entire time. The entire time they'd known him, Patterson was working for Blane to plunge the country into war.

The entire time they'd known him, he was operating under the threat of his hometown being exterminated if he interfered. No wonder it had been so easy for him to continue working as if nothing was wrong. He'd probably been doing it a quarter of his life.

"Did Blane tell you why?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not for a long time," he answered. "If not for treating you and Edward, I would never have been more than an informant for the Cretians . . . and it is Creta," he added suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him. "Franklin means to transmute them before they attack-"

"We're aware," Roy interrupted, in an incredibly dismissive tone. Patterson's words trailed off, and then his eyes fell to Russell's feet.

" . . . I'm so sorry."

A thick silence descended, punctuated by their quiet breathing, and finally Russell shifted.

"I've got one more question. You said you were coming here to kill Mustang, right?"

Patterson hesitated a moment, then nodded.

"So who attacked you?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: So there you have it! Patterson's reveal. And before you ask, as of PAA: The Fusing Alchemist, I had already decided that Patterson had another motive, and it linked to Franklin's desire for a Philosopher's Stone. You can all blame Silverfox for this if you want. :evil grin: And while you're at it, read her fic Between! Second half of this chapter will be posted shortly.

Standard typo disclaimer applies. Thank you all for pointing out some of the glaring ones last chapter. Fixing this monster may take me as long as writing it has. ; ) And I don't think I say it enough, thank you also for the kind words. It's interesting to note so many of you like graphic torture. ; )


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

Note: This chapter is a direct continuation from last chapter.

- x -

The needle had barely slipped from his skin before his back arched, jaw stretched wide in a desperate gasp, and Franklin Sorn wondered if he was really going to come around this time.

Adrenaline, he finally decided, watching Elric's body responding to the chemical, apparently without him. His eyes were as wide as his mouth, but they were just as fixed as before, and as soon as the hormone had had a chance to burn through its half-life the physical responses once again decreased in violence. His muscles relaxed, though his breathing remained elevated, and there was no indication that he was aware, either of his situation or his physical discomfort.

Ike's back was to him, but Franklin could hear the frown in his voice. "Any more will kill him," he warned, and Reinken cursed.

"If Luis wasn't the general's pet I would kill him where he stands," he growled halfheartedly. "He was given explicit instructions. This wasn't due to lack of skill."

Ike shrugged eloquently. "Regardless, I doubt he's going to be walking around anytime soon. You need to notify the general."

Another soft curse. "This dog irritates at every turn."

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, the fixed eyes blinked. It was halfhearted and incomplete, but it wasn't a reflex response. Sorn hoped rather selfishly that they'd missed it, but of course Ike was a doctor, and he'd been observing his patient as closely as Luis had last night.

"I don't think he appreciates the title 'dog,' commander."

Another blink, just as sluggish as the last, and then another deep breath, just like one would take upon waking. This was followed by a weak round of coughing, and then the eyes closed altogether.

Ike had a hand to Full Metal's neck, obviously concerned about his vitals, but after a moment he nodded to the commander. "If you wanted him dressed, I'd suggest getting it done before he has the presence of mind to fight."

It turned out to be sound advice. By the time their night guards' relief had Full Metal back in the clothes he'd arrived in he was already starting to regain consciousness. Nidler ducked into the tent with a loud crackle, a pent piece of steel in his hands, and as soon as they'd shoved the now-fighting Elric's arms through his sleeves, his wrists were encased in steel manacles that kept his hands from touching. His legs were allowed to remain bare, though apparently one of his boots was larger than the other to accommodate his 'automail' foot.

Armor. It was so flawlessly done that he'd honestly had no idea. Elric had taught, probably fought in it all this time, never giving it away. It was quite strange to see him without it, though the only evidence was that his right hand was flesh. If they put white gloves on him, the majority of the Cretian army would have no idea.

But they didn't. They hauled him to his feet, as woozy as he was, and they pretty much carried him out of the tent.

And then Franklin was alone with Nidler and Reinken.

They had a brief conversation, too quietly to overhear, and then turned and fixed him with considering looks. He returned their gaze, unafraid. They'd already said there was nothing he could do for Elric, and they weren't going to do anything to him. He'd have to wait until one of the guards slipped up. If Lanan hadn't been so on the ball, he could have gotten away last night during his 'rest' period, but no, they'd transmuted the same restraints they'd just put Full Metal in -

And then Nidler pulled out his array again, slapping the worn piece of leather sharply on one of the support poles of the tent. The leather snapped around the pole and glowed a bright blue, and the diameter of the tent pole narrowed significantly, leaving Nidler with a healthy chunk of metal.

Nidler approached him quickly, almost as an afterthought. He wasn't a threat. He was a child to them.

They were going to learn how wrong they were.

"There's an entire army out there, whelp. Don't even think about it," Nidler warned, slapping the leather onto the chunk of metal again. This time the alchemist formed the manacles around the cuffs on the chair, so that when they were released, Sorn still couldn't bring his arms together.

He was pulled to his feet, the manacles being resized - for his comfort, he realized - and then he was half-pulled, half-shooed out of the tent.

The fabric of the tent was a very thick canvas, and it had done a good job of mangling the outside noises into a blur. Now that he was free, each shout meant something, grub was ready or supplies needed to be counted, and each odd whuffing noise was a tent coming down. The equipment looked much the same as Amestris', and it wasn't until he'd been led from the officer's area that he got an idea of scope.

The rolling hills on all sides of him were dotted with the same activity. Tents coming down, campfires being kicked out, supplies loaded onto vehicles and always the shouts, yells, calls, laughter. These were not tense men. These were jubilant men.

They hadn't even fought yet, and they were already celebrating?

He sharpened his eyes, and though he knew Reinken had noticed his curiosity, the commander didn't interfere. They had multiple war machines, long-range artillery as well as their more classic armors, but he didn't see any one large weapon. They were relying completely on the element of surprise.

If Mustang really had been stupid enough to withdraw his prairie fire drill troops, West might not actually have enough men to defend. Again, defenders should have nearly a ten to one advantage, all the books said, so at the very least it would be a very costly battle for the Cretians.

If he had to, he'd transmute some of the Amestrian forces. It really didn't matter.

It's not killing them. They would be fine.

At length Sorn began to realize that Reinken was actually taking him in a circular route around the main hill.

"Is there a reason for this tour?" he inquired in what he hoped was a polite voice. All they were doing was giving him the layout of the camp, and a good idea of their numbers and weapons. Which were, admittedly, formidable, and more than he'd probably be able to transmute. Then again, Liore had been an entire city, it wasn't necessarily the size as it was the energy invested. If you used part of the previously transmute d people to pay for the rest of the reaction, a truly enormous number of humans could be transmuted.

The problem would be accurately drawing an array large enough. Now that he realized he could transmute without an array . . . but that was extremely risky. Better to transmute the array and use it traditionally. He wasn't really sure of his skill using only his own mind to calculate on the fly.

It hadn't been as easy as Edward Elric made it look.

"The general believes it will be beneficial for you," the commander finally replied, a father testing his son. "How could you have hoped to stop so many men?"

He wondered if he should tell the truth. The commander would never believe him - but Nidler was with them, and he was more likely to realize it was possible.

"All we had to do was delay you," he answered glibly. "If you were planning to execute Elric, I'd advise against it. Currently you're a political threat. If you kill Full Metal, Mustang will consider you a personal enemy."

A short laugh. "Your Prime Minister does not concern me." They walked in silence a moment, and Franklin began to notice a gradual movement of the mass of soldiers toward the east, in the direction they too were sauntering. "Your information put this into motion, little councilor. I thought you would want to see your dream fulfilled."

He did, enough that it made his wrists ache with the need to get out of those manacles. They were there, in a tight group, just begging him to do it. Everything he ever wanted was right in front of him and a stupid piece of steel was all that was keeping it from him.

_Damn_ Full Metal!

Reinken misinterpreted his angry look. "You must have known this could not be stopped so easily. Tell me. Tell me why you put up such a poor defense. Did you not realize the consequences?"

There were no consequences. It would never happen.

His silence was interpreted as shame, or possibly thoughtfulness, because the commander didn't press him further, and soon they topped a hill, and he saw he was being led to a white, open tent, under which a camp chair sat. It was to the side of a line of men nearly half a mile wide, curving around a gentle, unmarked circle. No one passed the camp chair's line of latitude, and no one was gathered to fill in the other half of the circle. All the gathered men were to the west, looking east.

Looking toward West City, though it was not in sight.

It was to the tent that he was eventually led, and weight was put onto his shoulders, increasing until he capitulated and knelt. It brought a roar from the gathered soldiers, but he ignored them. If they thought it was Amestris kneeling to them they were idiots, and he was not concerned with the opinions of idiots.

Ingredients. His ingredients. Reinken was right. He'd done this, and here it was, exactly like he'd calculated.

All this work, gone to waste because of one man.

One man who was, oddly, nowhere in sight.

He was only made to kneel there for a few minutes, and he finally shifted to a more comfortable position when a light hand was placed on the crown of his head.

"Are you well, my little councilor?"

The grass was so well packed around the tent that he hadn't even heard anyone approach. He couldn't hide his jump, and he didn't look up at her. Who did she think she was? His mother?

She came around, leaving her hand to ruffle his hair before taking a seat, her ceremonial sword placed on the small table to her right. There was a sudden roaring chorus of three grunts, coming from over ten thousand throats, and as one the sea of gathered men dropped to one knee. If only ten or so had done it, it would have been laughable.

In this number, it was so deafening he could feel the vibrations through his chest, and he had to admit slight awe.

That number of people would never kneel for him. Or for Mustang.

Not that he cared, he decided carefully, when a few officers called commands to their men. If it worked, he'd already decided what he'd do. He'd stay home with mom and be a locksmith like his father. He couldn't think of a vocation better suited to his alchemy. He would never join the army, and he'd never see anything like this.

Several flag bearers stood at the head of each section, the Cretian coat of arms flying in the cool breeze, and the atmosphere was almost one of a fair. Looking over the uniforms, the artillery interspersed in the crowds so the pilots could see the proceedings -

But then he remembered the proceedings. And it didn't take the Cretians long to start demanding a show.

Franklin refused to crane his head around, wondering if he could complete the circle by using something other than his hands. They'd let him kneel, so if he shifted into an Indian style he could get one hand on the opposite foot - but how would that change the math? Was that even possible?

Could he use just his feet? After all, they were lined up, too tightly packed to go anywhere, and even if he could only transmute half of them it would probably cause the other half to flee, if even temporarily-

There was a roar unlike anything he'd ever heard, swelling like the wind over the grass, and about forty feet to his left, two men half dragged, half-carried Full Metal into the center of the half-circle.

They were going to execute him there? There wasn't even anything to bind him to-

No need, he realized immediately. There was no way he could run, so as long as he couldn't transmute the worst he could do would be get shot in the back fleeing. They were counting on Elric to be too proud for that.

And they were probably right.

He could barely stand, and he still didn't seem to have much idea of what was going on. He was shoved hard as they reached the place they wanted him, and he predictably went down. Another cry swept across the men, like so many identical stalks, and Franklin watched curiously as a line of ten men filed from behind the general's tent, each with their rifles on their shoulders.

The firing squad.

They marched in perfect time to their positions, their rifles at parade rest, as Full Metal struggled to his feet. His hands had been bound behind him, making it hard to get up without bowing to the opposing army, and there were so many jeers they blurred together into a single undulating malice. Though Elric was close enough to call to, if he wanted to, Franklin held his tongue.

He deserved it. If he hadn't interfered, it wouldn't have happened. And even though he _had_, it still wasn't going to happen. The only pity was that Full Metal would never remember this.

Sorn still had all the time it took the army to march on West. He could probably get enough if a few thousand fled. He was basing his numbers on Liore, which was over six thousand, not to mention however many lives had been preserved in Scar's arm-

So he might have to transmute West's survivors too. It would be harder, since Mustang would have fair warning, but if he absolutely had to, he could probably collect one of the border towns to round out the Stone.

None of this had to happen, and none of it was going to. It would work.

But it would only work as long as he stayed out of Mustang's hands. The Cretians still had no idea, not if they were lining up like this.

On a whim, he shifted again, so that he was sitting on the grass rather than his legs. Enora gave him a long look, even as the marshal shouted out something to the firing squad.

"Normally I would not ask a whelp to watch, but given the poison this man has given you, I thought it would be a valuable lesson."

The crowd was deafening, but the squad marshal had apparently been practicing his whole life for this moment. He waved for silence, calling above the din, and gradually the front lines gave it to him. A few of the commanders assisted, and soon it was quiet enough that the marshal could be clearly heard.

"Amestris attacked us in the night, without warning, thirty-two years ago!"

Predictably, the army roared, and it took half a minute to restore order. Franklin busied himself with watching Elric, who had finally regained his feet. He appeared to be eyeing the firing squad, and squinting as if the bright morning light was bothering him. It likely was, all the stimulants he'd been given had probably permanently locked his pupils wide open.

"Today, we shall pay them in kind! But we are not so cowardly! We will give them what they have asked for!"

Elric slowly straightened, prying each vertebrae up with visible difficulty. The muscle cramps from the electrocution. His entire body was probably one pulled muscle, and when his mouth opened slightly to allow for panting, Franklin realized it probably hurt a great deal.

"They hide behind their fearful Parliament, behind their alchemist leader! They say they will not fight until Amestrian blood is spilled on Amestrian land!"

Full Metal's head came up, then, as if he'd just heard what the man was yelling. As if he'd just realized where he was, and what he was facing. Alone, hands bound, he was staring at the face of an army.

And, of course, the only thing it did was close his mouth in a determined, grim line. Stubborn to the last. Probably still thought he was right. It would almost be worth saving Elric now just to prove him wrong, since he'd never get another chance.

Enora was busy looking regal, and Franklin touched his right hand to his left foot, intent on transmuting one blade of grass. With his hands hidden in his lap, and the bright sunlight, no one was likely to spot or hear the transmutation. It would be tiny, and it would tell him whether it was possible to transmute hand to foot-

But his fingertips brushed a blade of what he knew was grass, and there was no tingle of alchemical energy. There was nothing at all.

"Today Amestris will fight, and she will lose! Let the first bullet of this war spill the blood of a State Alchemist on his own soil!"

Slightly alarmed, he tried it again, making sure he was getting good contact. Was the fact that a shoe was in the way the matter? If Elric had done it with automail, that couldn't be it. He pictured the array clearly in his mind, exactly as he had when he'd realized they were about to be crushed with rock, and he tried again.

And nothing happened.

He thought back to the fort, even as the soldiers roared once more. Maybe he hadn't pictured the array. He'd had to when he'd been using it from the pouch, but when they'd been falling, all he'd thought was that he wanted to disassemble it molecule by molecule, he'd seen the bonds breaking in his mind's eye and he wasn't even sure why he'd bothered to bring his hands together except maybe because he'd just felt it was necessary-

"Ready!"

His eyes remained closed, trying to recapture the feeling, and he brushed the grass, one more time. There was the briefest tingle, and he opened his eyes, glancing down to see a perfect strip of paper-

But instead he saw something small and black, with six legs and two antenna, wondering what he was doing with his fingers in the colony's blade of grass.

And then there was warmth under his chin, and it was pulled up until he saw the field again. His eyes were drawn to Full Metal, body now visibly tense and balanced, eyes open and alert. He looked as if he meant to dodge the bullets.

"Watch, my little councilor," the general ordered him, not unkindly.

. . . why hadn't the transmutation worked? What wasn't he doing right? If he couldn't get transmuting without arrays down, and in a hurry, this opportunity he'd worked so hard for was going to go up in smoke-

"Steady!"

As one, the line of ten men raised their rifles to snap them against their right shoulders, taking aim. The movement was barely finished before a shot rang out.

Elric's head jerked back, a shadow of something flying through the air in tandem with his too-long bangs, and then he toppled. His tense body rag-dolled halfway through the fall, knees giving way so that muscle and bone landed heavily and without resistance. His face had turned in the general's direction, and his eyes were closed.

He didn't move again.

The crowd wasn't sure how to respond, and what should have been a triumphant roar was only so in the back, where the soldiers had been unable to hear the marshal's shouts. The hand that had been beneath his chin was snatched away, and the general stood in one graceful movement. She didn't say a word; the other men on the firing squad had already given away their trigger-happy comrade by breaking rank, some even lowering their rifles a tad, to stare in surprise.

The marshal stormed up the line, screaming for parade rest, and as one the startled men responded. He trotted like a furious terrier to the very end of the line, furthest from the general, and began bellowing in his face of the guilty soldier. The man took it in stride, remaining in parade rest without flinching or looking anywhere but straight ahead.

"To me!" the general called, and the soldier saluted sharply, put his rifle to his shoulder, and marched in double-time to their tent, still being screamed at by the marshal the entire way.

The army was in a bit of an uproar by the time the soldier drew close enough to speak with the general, and Sorn was not surprised to see several of her commanders place their hands on their firearms. The brownish-blonde soldier saluted sharply, pale blue eyes staring straight ahead without fear. His hand wasn't even shaking as he held it to his brow.

The general took a step forward, clasping her hands behind her back. "Was there a particular reason you disobeyed orders?" The soldier didn't drop his salute until she waved him down casually. She didn't appear or sound angry, though Franklin knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. The entire army was watching, though few could hear. She was free to say almost anything she wanted.

The private fell into parade rest, now raising his eyes to hers. "Yes, general sir!" His tone was earnest, with more than a hint of apology.

She tilted her head to the side slightly. "Oh?"

"My younger sister was knocked up by a State Alchemist, general sir! She didn't get his name, so I figure I'm obligated to shoot all of 'em." He cleared his throat, as if remembering who he was speaking to. "I acted out of turn, general sir! I have no excuse! Please overlook my error and allow me to continue fighting, general sir!"

Sorn blinked at the man, taken aback by his response. The general, however, quietly started to laugh. It was a pleasant sound, and the sight of her smiling relaxed her commanders.

"I see. A fine shot, private. However, see to it that your family honor aligns with your country's in the future. As you were," she added with the tiniest trace of amusement.

The private saluted again, looking no more or less relieved than he had a second ago, and he turned on his heels. The marshal screamed in his ear all the way back to the end of the line, but it couldn't be heard over the tumultuous roar of the army.

Even if what had happened was not according to the book, clearly their general felt it was appropriate. Either way, the war had begun.

The same two men that had dragged Full Metal before the firing squad waited for the squad to march off the field before they pulled a horse-drawn cart, of all things, to the body. The horse was older, graying around the muzzle, and didn't seem fazed by the sea of screaming humans. It did flick its ears back at the smell of the blood, visibly soaking the ground where Elric had fallen.

Franklin watched as one of the men grasped Full Metal by his braid, hefting his upper body off the ground for display. The right side of his head was a bloody mess, thick ropes of fluids trailing to the grass as if the land itself was loathe to surrender him. Blood, grass, bone and worse was readily visible beneath the matted hair, and the sight of the gore brought another healthy roar from the army.

They dangled the body in view of the men until the commanders started giving orders to move out. Sorn ignored them. He was transfixed by the sight of Elric's body as it was eventually tossed back to the grass and the dirt. His bound arms and ankles were grabbed, and then he was swung onto the back of the wagon like a sack of flour. The 'automail' was already in there, glistening beside him, and the second soldier jumped into the back with the body, shifting it around as if looking for something.

He came up with the State-issued pocketwatch, which he tied around Full Metal's neck, leaving it dangling over the back of the cart and readily visible. The first soldier slapped the rump of the nag, who shook its head in irritation before starting off at a good steady walk - in the direction of West City.

They'd probably stolen it from a stable there. Like any other domesticated animal, if left to its own devices it would return to where the oats were. The horse would deliver Elric's body - and the Cretian declaration of war - probably only an hour before the army herself showed up on their doorstep.

Franklin watched the cart move off until he realized that someone was standing just beside him, and he looked up to see the general watching him with soft eyes.

"Now you understand consequence, my little councilor. He made a choice, and he accepted the consequences." She took a slow breath, then nodded to him once, firmly. "Take him back to the officer's tent. He will remain here until West is secured, then he will be brought to me."

She turned without another word, and Nidler stepped forward to comply with her orders Franklin didn't fight him - no point. If he couldn't transmute by touching his feet-

If he could concentrate, it would be different. He could try it in the tent, pretend that he was upset so they'd leave him alone. Play on their culture. Then he'd transmute the men that she left here, and then he'd take a bite of their forces from the west, from their flank. They wouldn't know what had hit them.

He would.

It was gonna work.

- x -

Author's Notes: . . . :sound of crickets chirping: . . . :sound of velociraptor belching: . ..


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning**: Extremely mild tearjerk warning. Really, really mild. More like a cringe warning.

- x -

"My colleague."

It was the first time in Al's recollection that Goodman had spoken at all.

He turned in surprise to the barrel-chested bodyguard, standing just beside the staging room door, and he was greeted with the same slightly unfriendly look he always got. Everyone was a threat. Everyone was suspect.

Brooks, on the other hand, had the same look, but allowed his girlfriend to kiss him in public. He was the one dating one of Patterson's nurses, assuming they still _were_ dating. He was definitely the more mild of the two, in Al's opinion, though the descriptor could hardly be readily applied to either of them.

"Why did he attack him?" Russell didn't sound any more friendly than he had when he'd growled the question at the doctor.

Goodman didn't respond at all until Mustang tilted his chin slightly, granting him permission. "He suspected a gun."

A gun. Well, it was an oddly shaped bag, but no more oddly shaped than he'd been carrying into the Prime Minister's wing for months. Russ didn't miss that detail either.

"Why tonight? Just good luck?"

"He looked nervous," Mustang murmured, letting Goodman off the hook. "Brooks was quite a bit more vigorous than I expected, though that may be due to the fact that so many people have been trying to kill me recently."

Russ seemed no less satisfied than he'd been before, but he let it go, and directed his next to the doctor. "Did he see you staying with him?"

The doctor almost flinched. Almost. "He did," he said solemnly. "I spoke to him until I was cer- . . . as long as he was able to hear me."

He wasn't sure how much comfort the man that had murdered him really would have been for Fletcher. If the first body they'd seen was really Fletch's, his expression indicated that he hadn't been at ease. Then again, death by paralyzed muscles would be short and unpleasant. Severe muscle cramps, nausea, suffocation . . . loss of all bodily control. Al wasn't sure he could think of another way to die, with your body, and feel that helpless.

And obviously if Russ had progressed to contemplating his brother's last moments, this interview needed to be ended before a quick transmutation put Patterson out of his own misery. Regardless of the fact that he'd acted to save hundreds of lives, Russell would probably never forgive him.

There had to have been another way to derail Fletcher. There was nothing he could have found that would have been completely disastrous for Franklin's plan, not if they still weren't sure that Franklin hadn't pulled it off. There had to have been another road for the doc to take.

"Why didn't you ask us for help?" Obviously Russell had the skills to remove the bracelet – for heaven's sake, the Prime Minister of the damn country was a personal friend! Why, once he got to know them, hadn't he trusted them?

Patterson's adam's apple bobbed, but his reply ended there, and finally he dropped his eyes. Russell had lost all patience with him, and turned back to the staging room door in disgust. No matter what the doctor thought of to say, nothing would ever be an acceptable excuse. Patterson had the trust and friendship of the most powerful people in his country, and instead of turning to them, he had let the chance slip through his fingers. He'd even killed the younger brother of the man who ended up saving his town.

Only when they were walking out of the staging room into the main hall did Al realize he'd just asked the same question that Mustang had asked them, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Why didn't you come to me for help.

The Prime Minister was again the first out into the hallway, his shoulders square and tense, and he didn't look back as Goodman took his usual position. No wonder Roy was being so distant. He couldn't afford to feel, couldn't afford to feel anything at all. This situation itself was bad enough, but the country stood on the brink of war. And as important as his State Alchemists were to him, even Fletcher, the country took precedence.

He couldn't spare this any more of his time or attention. Patterson had betrayed his trust as deeply as he'd betrayed Fletcher, in a way.

Al closed his eyes briefly. When Breda learned of all of this . . . maybe Roy would be bright enough not to mention it. Or to deny him visitation, now that he had his confession he could lock Patterson away forever-

High treason. He was being charged with high treason. They didn't lock you away for that. They executed you.

But surely extenuating circumstances . . . ? Patterson should have trusted them not to give the game away to Blane, should have trusted them to handle the situation carefully and seriously. But the fact remained that he was as much a hostage as Jannai was. To refuse outright could have meant many deaths. The courts would have to take that into account, they'd find the true villain was Avram and-

Al turned, just a curious glance to see if he could tell which cell was Blane's, and he discovered two things.

There were several uniforms and one doctor gathered near the far end of the hall.

And Russell Tringum, whom he'd thought was following him, was actually more than halfway to that group of people.

Al turned on his heels, not bothering to do so surreptitiously. Goodman would sense soon enough that they weren't following, and he'd stay where he was to keep Mustang away from the distraught alchemist. But the soldiers in front of Blane's cell – and their guns – were another matter altogether. They were already looking up curiously at his approach, and Russ was walking purposefully, as if he'd been granted permission and belonged there.

Belonged in front of the cell that housed the man that had masterminded all of this. The one as responsible as Patterson.

The one that said his brother had been transmuted into a homunculus.

It was probably his stricken look, as far from them as Al was, that had gotten their attention, and when Russ was about four yards from his goal the first soldier raised his hand. "Excus-"

Russell brought his hands together quietly and wasted no motion in touching the wall beside him.

Al brought his hands together as well, now knowing what Russ was going to transmute, and he followed suit as alchemic energy raced across the stone. Nothing more alarming than a wall formed, taking rock from elsewhere and moving it to completely encase the soldiers in their own brand new cell. This also moved the door to the staging room of Blane's cell much closer to him, and Russ was almost through before Al's own transmutation caught up.

Russ whirled, at the same time there was a gunshot, and Al registered a bullet whizzing past as he freed the trapped soldiers. Dear god, they were actually going to shoot him, they didn't realize he wasn't there to break Blane out but to kill him-

"Russ, stop-"

With the rush of displaced air, a well-formed and exceedingly hot ball of flames roared into existence practically on top of Russell. He ducked reflexively, bringing his hands together, and Al clapped quickly, intending to encase Russell's hands in the stone. The fire would stay the soldiers for a second, but only a second-

"CONTROL YOURSELF!"

It was possibly the angriest he'd ever heard Roy Mustang, and considering how upset the Flame Alchemist had been when he'd found them after the last human transmutation incident, it was enough to stop Al in his tracks.

Russell, too, seemed deeply surprised, stumbling out of the dodge with his back against the doorframe he'd transmuted. Even with a transmutation prepared, Russ had to know he couldn't get his hands onto anything before Mustang could snap again, and he visibly weighed his chances of ducking into the room to dodge the next attack. Gas was gas and would follow him, but since quite obviously there was someone with a gun already in the staging room, Roy couldn't risk it.

Russ seemed to come to the same conclusion, because he glanced into the staging room, probably to get a bead on whoever took a shot at him. In the next second Al was certain Russell had actually been hit somewhere in the scuffle, because every bit of energy and strength in him seemed to suddenly dissipate. He sagged against the doorframe, oblivious to everything but whatever it was he was seeing, and Al glanced questioningly back at Mustang. He could easily pin the alchemist with stone and end this, but –

Mustang stood there, at nearly the opposite end of the hallway, fingers poised, yet no array in sight. For a brief, ridiculous instant Al wondered when Roy had performed human transmutation before he realized Mustang must have started keeping one hidden on his person to lull his enemies into a false sense of security.

It had certainly worked with Russ, after all.

But despite the fact that Roy could strike, and prevent Russ from going into the cell, he didn't move. His voice had been thunderous, but his expression was one of deep disappointment and . . . resignation. Almost like Patterson's expression had been.

In this brief pause, every soldier in the hallway had pulled a weapon, all of them trained on Russell, but still, he hadn't moved. He remained exactly where he was as if holding up the wall. Something had calmed - or spooked - him enough that Al decided not to further the situation with alchemy, and he approached Tringum, his hands by his sides.

"Russell-"

Deliberate footsteps on the concrete told Al that either Goodman or Mustang was well on his way, and he joined Tringum by his transmuted door, seeing into the staging room. Colonel Hawkeye was there, gun trained on Russell, but thankfully there was no sign of Hakuro. The reaction to wall up the soldiers in the hall had taken more stone than he'd thought, because the inner wall between the staging room and the cell room was gone as well, and the occupant of the cell was quite directly in their line of sight.

He looked as stunned as Al felt, and after a moment, Al put a steadying hand on the other side of the doorframe.

That wasn't Avram Blane.

Almost in a trance, Alphonse stepped into the staging room, paying no attention even when he stepped directly into Hawkeye's line of sight. She hadn't lowered her service pistol but she didn't point it at him, and as there was no more door to guard, he had all the room in the world to move around her.

The tang of antiseptic was strong enough to turn his stomach; it stank like he'd just stuffed his head into a metal tin of treated bandages. Beneath it was the odor of dead tissue, and charring, bringing with it unwanted memories of the war in Europe. The alchemist was still curled over, his eyes wide and frightened, and it wasn't until Al was almost in front of him that he found the source of the stench.

The man's right arm was badly burned from his fingertips to his elbow. Second degree at least, third degree in places. The tissue was already starting to slough off, and despite the dreadful injury, he had been secured in an alchemist's chair, and the leather binding that pinned his left arm to the armrest also secured his right. The only nod Amestris had made to the burn was a clean white cloth between the burn and the armrest.

No bandaging. No creams. No IV to get fluids into what had to be a quickly dehydrating body.

The alchemist in question was quite obviously in extreme discomfort, panting, scruffy chin dripping with tears and sweat. His eyes were glazed with fear and pain, and oddly, they flicked to Hawkeye even as he swallowed, as if in preparation to speak.

Al, on the other hand, couldn't seem to find his voice.

The alchemist in the chair was Fletcher Tringum.

Only that was quite impossible, seeing as Patterson, a brilliant doctor, had killed him. And confirmed he was dead. And done it in such a way that resuscitation was impossible. So this wasn't Fletcher Tringum huddling around his arm as best he could, staring past Al with a horrified look on his face. This was a homunculus.

A homunculus with a burn?

Al finally tore his eyes away from the specter of his friend, turning until he could see Hawkeye. She had lowered her pistol, and the reason was standing in the doorway with Russell, speaking in such a low voice that Al couldn't hear it at all. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

"He attacked Patterson?"

Mustang looked up, the resignation heavy now in his tone as well when he spoke. "Yes. Last night."

He didn't need to ask where the burn came from. He was surprised Mustang hadn't torched the thing completely, had only burned the arm - maybe he'd been hoping for a miracle.

And the doc had just shattered that hope.

Russell showed no signs of coming any closer. No wonder Mustang was angry with them. He'd probably never intended for them to know it had been a homunculus, at least not yet. Even Goodman had lied - Goodman! - to hide this. The burn was a test, to see if Fletcher was a homunculus, to see if he would heal. Something so painful that the homunculus would choose to heal, on the off chance that was a conscious and not unconscious choice. Something to make it give itself away.

"Did he transmute?"

Roy seemed to consider his words carefully, but he didn't leave Russell's side. "Patterson can't say for sure. I didn't want to take the chance." After all, Wrath could use alchemy, and even though that was a special circumstance there was nothing saying someone who had known Dante wouldn't have picked up a neat array or two.

But again, if Blane had done it, he would have seen the Gate. He would have been able to transmute without a circle. If he'd made that bracelet, he was quite clever himself, he would have figured it out -

Al turned back to the figure, noting that now he was ducking his head, trying to stifle a whimper. He looked completely terrified, and Al's heart went out to him despite himself. He would have only been a few days old, if he was like Wrath, he probably had no idea what was going on, and only a dim memory of the man who had killed him. He was in the standard prisoner light blue, bare feet curled tightly even in the ankle bindings.

"Where's the ouroboros tattoo?" That was another dead giveaway, after all, one that Mustang would know well.

There was a long pause, punctuated by the pained, quick breaths in the cell. Eventually Al couldn't watch him anymore, and turned back to the people in the room behind him.

Hawkeye was still there, as well as Mustang and Russ. Goodman, however, was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the soldiers that had been ready to kill Russell not two minutes ago. Al was briefly stunned that he'd let Mustang out of his sight with Fletcher in that cell, but then again, he could do little against a homunculus. Mustang was safer with him and Russ than he was with just about anyone else.

"The tattoo," he repeated, in a low voice. It might give them an idea of what he could do, and he knew well that changing or destroying the tattoo would have an effect on the homunculus. If he thought about it hard enough, he could probably remember the array that caused them to reject the Red Stone.

"There isn't one," Mustang replied at last. "Not visible, at any rate. Nor has he healed the burn, even when unconscious."

It was a long time before he figured out some way to continue his train of thought. "Has he said anything?" Anything, a clue on the creator, or where he woke up-

"You may interview him if you like," was Mustang's cryptic reply.

Some life seemed to come back to Russ, but not much. He raised his head, the first stirring of anger in his eyes, but it faded quickly back to a dazed shock as he looked at the thing that looked so much like his little brother.

Fear, Al realized. In a way, Russ was just as terrified of the situation as the homunculus seemed to be. If this was a homunculus-

But what else could it be? No one could bring back the dead. Not without a Philosopher's Stone, at any rate. And even then the window was tiny.

Al turned back to the cell, curling his shaking fingers into a fist. This was going to be hard. Harder with Russell there. "What do you remember?"

The young man looked up, then stole a quick glance behind Al. He apparently got some sort of permission, because he took a slightly deeper breath. "Please get Russ out of here. Please."

It was Fletcher. Down to the blue eyes that were almost grey. The imploring tone of his voice, even the facial scruff was familiar. And how would he remember Russell, when Sloth had barely remembered them . . .?

Al sucked on his bottom lip a moment, then crouched down by the bars, so the pained figure in the chair didn't have to crane his neck quite so far. "What do you remember?" If he had to listen to much more, he was going to believe in his heart that this was Fletcher Tringum, and that would make everything so much harder-

"I'm staying," came a raspy voice from behind him, and then stiff-sounding footsteps. Al watched the Fletcher in the cell's eyes as they followed whoever was approaching, then squeezed shut as he shook his head. Fresh tears tumbled down his cheeks.

"Please go. Please don't look at me."

There was the sound of shifting fabric, and then Russell was crouched beside him. He put his hands around the metal bars but didn't transmute them, and he rested his forehead against the cool metal. He looked ready to cry himself, but he said nothing else, and Al sighed softly.

"Tell me what you remember."

The blonde figure ducked his head, apparently unable to look at Russ another moment, and this close, his trembling was more obvious. After a long time he admitted defeat, and he spoke "God, Al, I don't kn-know . . I m-mean- I don't know what to tell you." He tried to steady his voice, tried to hide the pain in it. "Patterson. I went to the h-hospital after I got . . . that information for you." He swallowed loudly and his face contorted.

Suddenly his own shoulder didn't seem to hurt so terribly. Not in comparison to that burn.

"Sheska had said s-something and it made me think. I . . . I wanted to ask the doc about it, and he gave me a shot. Didn't think anything of it. But-" Then he broke off, and looked up, looked directly at his brother.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . but I couldn't- . . . I died." He choked on the words. "And . . . I went to the Gate."

Al found himself unable to untangle his fist. "Then what?"

It was a long time before Fletcher seemed able to go on. "Then they – you know, th-the things, the arms - and I heard the doors close, Al. I - . . .they pulled me in."

So much for not entering the Gate. "And then?"

The figure shuddered a little, though from pain or memory it was hard to tell. Maybe both. ". . . I don't remember." He sounded petrified. "I've tried and t-tried, but I don't remember a thing. It was like I blinked and I was on the floor in the hospital again, and -" He stopped, taking a deeper breath. "Franklin Sorn. He was beside me, and I was beside me. I saw my own body."

So Franklin Sorn had performed a successful human transmutation.

Al stood so abruptly that Fletcher flinched, and he took a step back, more to get away from the smell and proximity than to reject the thing in front of him.

No homunculus he'd ever known knew that much about its own creation but Wrath. And there was no telling how much of it Envy or Dante had told Wrath before he'd returned to throw it in sensei's face. Possibly Dante, or even their father, with all their experience, could make such a perfect homunculus without nursing it, but could Sorn? Or perhaps Fletcher's body had been taken by one of the creatures like Ed's had, to be used . . .

"Incomplete stone," Al finally offered. "I wouldn't think it would be sufficient for a successful transmutation, but lack of enough of it could explain why he can't heal. And we know Sorn had some." Then Sorn had told him what to say, given him a past . . . and if he was one of the Gate-beings parading around in Fletch's body, he might know things. Maybe Sorn had given something up with the transmutation, as well. They didn't necessarily know that he was uninjured-

Hawkeye was watching him closely, completely unlike Goodman had been, and suddenly Al was grateful for her presence. Roy was still standing in what had been the staging room, his countenance calm and cool. As if the last five minutes hadn't happened.

"He claims Sorn told him he had no idea why Patterson did what he did. He says he spent the last few days keeping an eye on Patterson, and when he came here, he got suspicious and followed. He was found wearing borrowed clothes and a brown wig."

Al knew he'd been the one to come up with the idea - probably proven correct at this point - that Franklin had been in the hospital that day to find and hide the record of his guardians. And when he'd been in the records room himself, he'd noted that he could hear into the apothecary. If Franklin heard the commotion, then investigated after the doc left -

But the paralytic was still in his system. He wouldn't have been able to make the body work, not without pulling out the drug and he just wasn't skilled enough to do that.

Though- "Patterson said eight minutes on the paralytic, right?"

Roy nodded after a moment. He didn't ask the obvious question, but Al was already thinking it. Ed had been stabbed through the chest by Envy and been dead for at least five or six minutes. His blood had been slowly leaving his body, so his tissues would have been subjected to the same lack of oxygen as Fletcher's-

But again, that had required a Philosopher's Stone. And Sorn didn't have one of those. There was no way he'd mined enough Incomplete Stone to have created one, and even if he had, they'd have heard of a mass disappearance or death -

Al felt his eyes widen, and Mustang responded immediately. "What are you thinking?"

But . . . that had happened years ago. It couldn't possibly tie to this issue. "I was thinking it couldn't be done without a Philosopher's Stone," he mused aloud, "but then it occurred to me . . ." Was it possible that the Incomplete Stone had nothing to do with this? If Blane was working with Dante, was it possible he had access to the human transmutation circle? But he simply wasn't powerful enough to pull it off without dying, so he'd turned to his apprentice . . .

That would have meant that Franklin transmuted a Philosopher's Stone at the tender age of thirteen.

". . . the Ishbalans," he finished lamely. "There were forty people who disappeared without a trace in Jannai, two years ago. The townsfolk said that rogue Ishbalans had killed them in the woods, a survivor who had had her tongue bitten out had said something that effect . . ." But what if she hadn't really had it bitten out? What if Blane spared just one of them, and told her to lie? Removing her tongue meant she'd never accidentally speak of it, and she'd died not too much later choking on a simple roll . . .

"You think . . ." Russ's voice was extremely quiet, almost broken. "You think they were ingredients?"

The more he turned it over in his mind, the more it made sense. Then Franklin wouldn't have been starting from scratch with the Incomplete Stone, but adding to a Stone he already had. A pitiful Stone, forty people would only make one small enough to fit on a ring. Completely useless to Blane, which may have been why he came up with the plan to push the country into war. It might have explained the falling out, too – talking the boy into doing something he hadn't figured out until it was too late -

And while that tiny Stone was worthless to Blane, if he let the kid keep it as a gesture of goodwill or support, and Sorn was growing it, figured out that Incomplete Stone wasn't going to cut it, and determined he needed more humans directly-

And then, being that he set up an entire army, Frank's tiny little Stone wouldn't matter in the great scheme of things. And since Sorn obviously hadn't been fully aware of Blane's duplicity, it would make sense logically to revive Fletch to ask him why Patterson had did what he'd done.

Setting the traps, disappearing – he might have been hiding from more than Amestrian scrutiny. He might have been hiding from Blane, too, having finally figured out that the guy meant to take the Stone himself.

Al turned back to the cell. "Did Sorn ask you why Patterson killed you?"

Fletcher looked loathe to have to speak to all of them again, especially Russ, but eventually he complied. ". . . y-yes. That was why he told me to watch him. I . . . I still don't know why, unless it was because I asked him about Arturu . . . it was what Jannai used to be called."

Al nodded. "I know." Franklin would have overheard the conversation, it didn't prove anything.

"Why didn't you come home?" Russ's voice was shaking, and Fletcher turned away, moaning low in his throat.

"I – I don't know what I am!" he finally cried. "I died, Russ! I died and I woke up and I don't know if the me I saw was a doll or – or I am! God . . . what am I?"

"Did Sorn have any Red Stone?"

Fletcher looked back up at him, another set of tears wetting his eyes. "I – I don't know! I . . . I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. Barely understood what he was saying to me. I was –" He stopped himself. "I was in pain, like there was something wrong with me," he finally choked out. "I don't remember anything clearly until the next day."

Not much to go on their, either. The doll was badly formed or he was in his real body and Franklin did a bad job repairing it. But Russ shifted, pulling his face off the bars.

"Can you transmute?" His voice sounded almost hollow.

Fletcher swallowed, then shook his head. "Didn't try," he whispered. "I w-was . . . afraid."

Afraid that he'd get his answer, and he wouldn't like it.

Al watched his thoughts chase their tails for a while, cradling his arm unconsciously as he considered. No tattoo, no idea if he could transmute, no evidence of healing, but the Philosopher's Stone idea was thin . . . without putting him on a homunculus-binding array . . . but if there hadn't been enough incomplete Stone, there wouldn't be any to puke up, and without a piece of the real Fletcher, they couldn't test with that either.

"Russ, do you have anything of his? A lock of hair?"

Russell looked stricken. "No," he answered, in the same hollow voice. "There might be some hair on his pillow, or in the tub drain, but . . ." He trailed off. "But then again it could be mine."

"I already checked that," Mustang's cool voice interrupted. "Maria is unaware of why the request was made," he added, as Russell's head whipped around. "Either way it had no effect. I have done everything I am aware of to do."

"We can see that." But he was still too stunned to be bitter, and Roy didn't react at all.

What else . . . well, homunculi were soul-less, but unless Ed was around, it was hard to check for one of those. "Where's nii-san?"

The briefest of pauses. "Probably somewhere on the west border. That occurred to me as well," Roy added quietly.

He wasn't really sure how Ed knew how to find souls, though clearly he was the most experienced with it –

A new thought tugged playfully on his brain. No, actually, Edward wasn't the one most experienced with souls. Well, with other people's. One other person's, really.

His. And he was more familiar with it than nii-san was.

"When nii-san went through the Gate the first time," he mused aloud. "he was drawn to his other. His double. He could hear that boy's thoughts, almost like he was speaking to him." Until he'd died in a zeppelin crash that Winry was never going to forgive him for. "Which means two souls can inhabit a body for at least a short amount of time without permanently dislodging the other."

"No." It was Mustang, and it was instant. "That is a decision you need to make after you've had some time to consider."

Al shrugged, favoring his left shoulder. "You think my soul would just become trapped in the Incomplete Stone if I tried it, right?" He wasn't even sure he could put his soul into living things, but - "But obviously there isn't any Incomplete Stone here, or the burn would have healed."

Roy's jawline was tight. "You're assuming a homunculus cannot control that ability."

Well, that was true.

"I questioned your judgment before. I'm doing it again. Both of you need some time to consider options-"

"While what?" Finally, life. Anger. "While his arm falls off?"

Russell's point was valid. The injury was severe, and while he was sure at this point Mustang would approve treatment, the longer it was left, the harder it would be to heal. Then again, keeping a homunculus behind bars without an array . . . if this Fletcher was just using them, he already had them eating out of his hand. One slip-up and they could all be dead before they knew what hit them.

"Neither of you has slept in days," Roy countered. "What Alphonse is considering risking is a piece of his soul. Excuse my bluntness, but isn't that why Hohenheim and Dante needed Philosopher's Stones to begin with? A body cannot be sustained by only part of a soul?"

Al cocked his head to the side. That was also a good point. He did fine for a while with his soul in inanimate objects, but if he left them there for too long, would he get sick as their father had done?

"I don't even know that I can put a piece of my soul into a living being," Al murmured, half a retort. "But outside of testing for a soul I don't see how-"

Russell pulled himself to his feet. "Try it on me."

Mustang's lips thinned, but he didn't repeat his protest. Nor did he forbid them. Al carefully didn't look at Hawkeye at all. "Russ-"

"You said yourself, two souls in one body won't kill anyone." He took a step forward. "If you want to know . . . you can test with me."

"Russ . . . " He faltered. "For all I know, it might be human transmutation-"

"Not if you don't dislodge my soul," Russ countered. "That was the reasoning we used when healing you-"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and that went well, don't you think?"

"Don't!"

It was the softest voice and it got the most response. They both looked back into the cell. Fletcher was weeping openly, shaking his head pleadingly. "Please, please don't. If anything h-happened to you b-because of me – no. No! I'd rather just die again, really, it's okay. It's okay," he repeated through the tears, in a pathetic attempt to reassure Russell, "I shouldn't be here. I know that. Please don't do this!" He almost choked on his next breath. "You can do anything else, please just don't . . . don't-"

Al faltered again, even as Russ turned away from all of them. God, it sounded exactly like something Fletch would say . . . and so would a homunculus that didn't want to be discovered. If it was Fletch, if they let this chance slip away –

But it wasn't like they couldn't wait for Ed, right? Maybe there was something to be said for the wisdom in thinking things over.

Al studied the cell even as Fletcher continued to beg, curled over himself as he was.

Hadn't he said, if there was the chance to have saved Fletcher, he'd take it? Hadn't Fletcher taken this chance for him, when they could have waited until the thing with Hakuro blew over? He'd been paralyzed but not about to die, eventually Hakuro would have let them see him again, try the infusion. The only risk had been-

Had been that something could change. The general could order this figure executed or destroyed for the safety and security of the country. A walking homunculus, even the rumor –

Or Mustang could make that decision for them. Make it as he might have been intending to make it all along. And what if Ed got caught up with Sorn? How long could they really afford to wait?

Al shook his head. "I don't need time," he said simply. "It doesn't matter if I test this now or later, at least on Russ. But you should probably sit down," he added, as the other alchemist whipped around in surprise. "I have no idea what this could feel like on the receiving end."

He also needed to do the math differently. He wasn't going to take immediate ownership of materials with his soul, that would be far too close to human transmutation, he needed to ease it in . . . Ed had said he'd fallen out of the sky and the force of joining had knocked him and his double out for hours. Russell swallowed and did as he was asked, and Al gave him a confident grin.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured, and then he brought his hands together, and touched Russ's left arm.

The slip of cold shot down his spine and arm, and Russell twitched, almost tearing out of his grasp. For a moment Al wasn't sure it had worked, because Russell continued to shiver, pulling away and grabbing his arm. If he had control, he would have expected his soul to do something to put them at ease, instead of looking so uncomfortable-

"Oh shit, this is weird," Russell finally said, a little shakily. "I am calm," he suddenly muttered in annoyance, then "Shut up," he added, looking up at Al. "I only want to talk to one of you at a time."

Al scratched his chin, bemused, as he watched Russell slowly climb to his feet. His eyes were narrowed and there was a pucker of skin between them, as if he was thinking very hard about something. "Okay, that's enough," he muttered. "I thought you were bad about the ribs from out there."

Al brought his hands back together and touched Russell's outstretched hand. Then he grabbed the man's wrist to support him as a glob of ice shot back up his arm. With it came the impression of incredible ache in his chest, and Al winced in spite of himself.

"Damn, Russ-"

"They're fine." He sounded more than a little cross. "You sound like a broken record, Elric."

Now he remembered the conversation from both ends, and he was startled to find that his soul had had the exact same thoughts he'd had. It hadn't felt any more or less draining than animating a suit of armor, so conceivably –

Conceivably he could determine if Fletch had a soul or not.

Al turned to Mustang. He looked –

Curious. Almost hopeful. But then he realized he'd been caught, and it faded instantly. "So your test was successful."

Al inclined his head. "It was." Then he looked back at the cell, where Fletcher was staring at them with wide eyes. He still looked terrified, but also relieved, and Russ shook himself slightly, and then realized he was being watched.

" . . . ribs?" It was incredibly timid, and Russ gaped at him.

"Not you too," he growled, trying to make it a joke, but Al could tell he was also hurt.

If this turned out not to be Fletcher –

And he couldn't make either of them wait until Ed got back. Not now.

"I want to." He turned back to Roy. "It's worth the risk."

Mustang tucked his hands into his pockets. "You'll do as you please regardless of what I suggest," he finally said. It wasn't approval, and it wasn't permission, but it was as close to either as Roy could possibly give him.

He wanted it to work as much as they did.

Al turned back to the cell immediately, noting the problem of the door. He could just transmute it, but a homunculus could be waiting for that, the key would be better. It also meant facing Hawkeye. Which he did, reluctantly, already dreading her expression. Even if Roy understood the principles, and also had been there, in the hospital, had seen what the Tringums had done for him, Hawkeye would never approve of something so risky.

And she didn't. But her eyes were soft, and her gun was holstered. She didn't say anything, staring at him for several seconds before she offered him the key, and he took it and gave her a brief smile in return.

She was used to the alchemists in her life doing stupid things.

Al approached the cell again, this time with key in hand, and Fletcher leaned up slightly, clearly panicked. "No. Oh, no, no Al, don't-"

"Wouldn't you rather know?" He said it as gently as he could.

Fletcher shook his head. "Not at this cost, Al, it's not worth it, please don't-"

"Don't you ever," he snapped suddenly, "tell me you are not worth the same risk you took for me. Fletcher wouldn't believe that."

Oddly, he met a pair of suddenly obstinate eyes. "Of course I would!" he objected. "I-" But then he stopped, horrified, and looked at his brother.

Al swung the door open, closing it behind him. "On the off chance something goes wrong," he murmured. Like his entire soul getting sucked into an Incomplete Stone, for example. He tossed the key back through the bars and Russ caught it gracelessly.

Fletcher was still shaking his head, trying to back through the chair, his bare feet scrabbling for purchase. "Please, Al, don't-"

But Alphonse ignored him, thought the math through, brought his hands together, and laid one on Fletcher's restrained left hand. Being trapped in an Incomplete Stone couldn't be worse than armor, right? Except, of course, the getting used part . . .

He felt the same glob of ice, and nothing more. No sensation that anything else was being drawn. It felt exactly the same as it had with Russ. Fletcher, on the other hand, jerked as if he'd been electrocuted, and then screamed.

Alphonse flinched back before he realized what had caused the reaction, and he hissed in sympathy, putting his good hand on Fletcher's left shoulder. He'd jerked back, jerked the burn in the leather cuff- "Breathe, Fletch," he soothed. "Breathe. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

The yell tapered off into a bitten shout, and he whimpered with every breath. "Get it out, get it out, please get it out getitoutGETOUT!"

Al waited only as long as he could bear to watch Fletcher screaming, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He called for the piece of his soul, as he always did, and with the same fluid feeling, it returned. It brought with it an agonizing echo of pain that made him stumble, and Al suddenly wondered if Fletcher – and Russ – had felt the same echo of his shoulder.

He also felt panic.

_He felt incredibly small, standing in the back of a darkened theater that had two eye-shaped screens instead of one rectangle. They flickered and moved in a nauseating way, and he saw his own curious face just seconds before a wave of agony raced up his arm. It was unbearable, it got worse by the second and the leather bit into it with red-hot needles, stripping the skin right off his bone._

_"Don't-" He cried out himself in sympathy, the screens now black. "Relax, Fletcher, relax, don't pull on it-"_

_"No!" It was also an echo, and it came on top of the scream, in the same voice. Now on the screens, he saw the arms, wrapped all around what he assumed was the body beneath him. As if he was a tiny passenger standing in someone's skull. He felt the echo of those arms on his own body, warm and flat and oddly careful, even as they swept both of them off their feet and into the Gate._

_He could see what Fletcher was thinking. What he was remembering._

_He was remembering being taken in by the Gate._

_The creatures that lived there were giggling as if greeting a long-lost friend, even as the doors closed with a reverberation he felt from head to toe They were talking to him, whispering, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. Just voices, detached but each unique-_

_"It's just a memory, Fletcher-"_

_"Shut up!" The voice was terrified, even as its double broke off in a cry. "Get away! Get away from me!" A static wave of panic rolled over him, reminding him of being slowly crushed in stone._

_Fletcher was reminded of the Gatebeings because they talked to him the same way. Also reminiscent of Al's own sudden dislike of quickly descending elevators._

_"Calm down! It's me! It's me, just breathe-"_

_And then the other voice. "Get it out, get it out, please get it out getitoutGETOUT!"_

Al opened his eyes sharply, staring at the man in front of him for only a scant second before bringing his hands together. The leather cuffs were with withdrawn into the chair even as someone outside the cell was speaking, and he grabbed the younger man's good shoulder, trying to decide if he wanted to pick him up and hug him or carry him to a clinic bed.

Probably better to get him some pain meds first.

"You scared the hell out of me," he growled, settling for snagging Fletcher's head in a tight hug. "Don't you ever do that again."

The other man was sobbing into his chest, and Al hung on to him tightly for a moment before he heard the cell door crashing open, and he released him with another squeeze, making way for Russell. Russ, too, didn't seem to know what to do, eventually collapsing in front of the chair and grabbing his little brother around the middle. It might have shifted his arm, but it didn't look like Fletch really cared, and Al backed up until he encountered bars, scrubbing his face quickly.

Then he turned back to Mustang and Hawkeye. "It's him," he said, before he registered that there was only one person looking back.

Hawkeye inclined her head, her expression carefully schooled. "I guessed," she told him with trembling lips before, stunningly, closing her eyes and visibly composing herself.

"Mustang assumed you'd want to start on his arm right away," she said briskly, as though her lapse of control hadn't happened. Of course not. She was still on duty. "There are ingredients in the storage closet at the end of the hall."

Al nodded, turning back to see the two Tringums clinging to each other, and then, quite impulsively, he pulled the colonel into a hug.

"Thank you," he breathed, and she squeezed him back hard enough to hurt his shoulder. "Keep on eye on him, okay?"

She would know he wasn't talking about Fletcher, or Russell. He was talking about the other alchemist, the one walking indifferently down the hallway to go deal with his war.

She nodded sharply into his good shoulder and he let her go, heading immediately out into the hallway, in the other direction, to get those ingredients. Healing alchemy wasn't his thing, but he wasn't feeling the least bit tired, and there was no time to learn like the present.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: So Fletch seems to have lucked out, huh? And Sorn transmuted a Philosopher's Stone at a younger age than the Elrics! And this does rather explain why he can transmute without an array. :ruffles Franklin's hair fondly: I really meant to include two more scenes in this chapter, but well, Al does like to ramble on and on, doesn't he? Ganimyde, sorry, but you don't get your reaction until next chapter. ; )

Moar notes: I had a really hard time with this chapter, for some reason. It seems to flow exceptionally poorly, like I crammed too much history into the action and should have had it progress and then have Al thinking things through . . . but I liked it even worse that way. I'm not even sure this chapter is even clear, though of course more explanation will follow.

But if you happen to recognize how I managed to mangle this, in technical terms, can you point to things? As I said, I'm having a hard time figuring out why I hate it so much, but I really, really hate this chapter. I've rewritten it four times now. (For me, that's huge. If I include the cut section at the end of this fic as I did with PAA, you'll see, and you'll agree. The other ways were worse.)

_Edit:_ On JChrys' suggestion, this chapter had been edited. It's still crappy, but at least it's a little easier to read. Italics are a wonderful thing. Thanks, hon, for helping me out! I just don't know what happened here. Once I figure it out, though, you can all expect a repost of this chapter. Sorry for the disappointment, guys!


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**EDIT:** Apologies! It looks like this site has managed to eat all my chapter separators - I'll find a way to fix post-haste!

- x -

It was completing an array. It was simply doing all the math without angles to guide the energies. It didn't matter how he physically performed it so long as the math was correct in his head.

And the math was correct in his head.

All that mattered now was getting out of the damn chair.

Franklin huffed in frustration, pulling on metal cuffs he knew he had no hope of prying off the chair. Restlessness coursed through him, his hands were shaking with the need to get up and _do_ something. He'd never had a hard time concentrating or focusing before, but now equations skittered through his head, the numbers darting around mutinously before leaping into each other in nonsense sums.

He still had a good enough handle on them to know that he had computed the angles, intersections, and paths necessary to turn the ground into nothing, a deep chasm that would end in broken and buried soldiers. The soil would close above their heads before they could even get breath to shout an alarm.

In fact, all he was lacking now was a guard. As he'd expected, they were giving him 'time' to consider the 'consequences.' They were just giving him . . . well, a lot of it. It felt like hours, and while he could hear them chatting outside the tent, they never so much as stuck their heads in to make sure he was still there.

Again, he considered calling for help, irritably blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. He hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday morning, so he could always ask for food, and they'd probably give it to him since he was a 'whelp.' If they just let him have one hand free to eat, whatever alchemist they assigned to him wouldn't think anything of it, and -

He sighed again. There were thousands of positive options he could think of for an agreeable outcome, so why hadn't any of them happened yet! He would have drummed his fingers on the armrest if he could, and again, he considered shouting for help.

Of course, _he_ hadn't. He hadn't said anything at all.

And look where it got him, Franklin snapped at himself. Dead. Permanently dead, if not for the fact that he was wrong about the possibility of backward time travel. And Professor Elric _was_ wrong, once he finally got up and did something about his current situation the math would calm down again.

He would prove it. He would. He just - just couldn't focus! If they would shut up and check on him already! He was so tired of their inane babbling, but his ears couldn't stop pricking to it.

"-as soon as the poor clod got off the field, they said it was like the ol' engine started dieseling. Apparently he was shakin' from head to foot. They said he asked for a cig and chainsmoked the pack."

"Pullin' a stunt like that in front of the general herself! He's lucky she didn't gut him."

A dry laugh. "He probably wishes she did, at this point. His commander's so afraid of retaliation from hers he put him on chuck duty for a month."

"Do you blame him?" It was much quieter. "They'll all hang once West falls. She won't forget. You can bet your war wage on that."

Knowing that the soldiers were afraid of their general was helpful, but not unexpected. Most of the alchemists he knew were a little afraid of General Hakuro, and a good portion of them Mustang himself. It was how armies worked, and while he could and would exploit it, the question was how? He wasn't supposed to be brought to her until the battle in West City was done, which would take days if the defenders were actually up to par, and assuming an advance team hadn't sabotaged the rail into West. But surely they had to feed him - or at least let him piss - before then?

For some reason, the having to ask chafed at h is pride. He functioned just like everyone else, after all. It wasn't as if his requests should come as a surprise.

"Speakin' of chuck . . ." There was a pregnant pause, then, much louder, "Sir!"

The tent flap crackled, admitting Nidler and a tin plate containing something Franklin was willing to believe had once been attached to some poor soul named Chuck. The Cretian alchemist looked around a moment, eventually settling on the overturned tub that had been used to torture Full Metal and putting down the plate. Then he approached, the familiar array coming out once more.

"If you'll behave yourself, you'll find the general may give you more freedom," he muttered, slapping the array around the right cuff of the chair. "A bed's better than that chair, restraints or not."

Franklin cast his eyes downward and attempted to appear contrite. It had worked on Sapud, it had worked on the assassins Creta had hired. It would work again.

"Is that legit?"

Franklin's ears perked once again to the skepticism in the voice outside, and the muffled sound of fabric or paper snapping was almost drowned out by the crackle of alchemical energy around his right wrist.

". . . unbelievable."

Nidler ignored them, bringing Franklin's unresisting wrist to his left and using the array once more to encase them.

"I thought you were on chuck duty until the end of the war?"

"Wasn't my idea." The third voice was almost a drawl. "The higher ups think I'll get more outta the kid than Reinken, I guess."

Nidler blinked, glancing at the canvas wall even as he extracted the left cuff from the wood of the chair. Despite his distraction he wasn't careless, and Franklin's hands were once more manacled in a way that he couldn't connect his fingertips. He could, probably, manipulate a fork into his mouth, and maybe relieve himself, but that was really about it.

At least, as far as Nidler knew.

"Good luck with that," the first voice muttered through the tent wall, tone indicating exactly how much success he expected the third voice to have. The next part was too muffled to hear, but three voices laughed heartily, and Franklin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Flood or famine. He could overwhelm Nidler, and quietly, but it would be a hell of a lot easier if there wasn't an audience. As soon as he was done eating, whoever was questioning him would want him back in the damn chair. So he needed to either get them all in the tent, or prevent anyone else from coming in while he borrowed Elric's idea and tunneled to the outskirts. By the time they realized it was an array forming under their feet it would be too late.

"Orders or no, you know we ain't gonna let you in there alone," the second voice said, somewhat hurriedly, and then the tent flap crackled.

"Not like I'd do anything to a kid," the third voice muttered, but Franklin saw that the man entering the tent did not own it. This was the same guard he'd had last night, apparently having relieved the morning shift. His name was unmemorable and Franklin didn't waste another thought on him as another figure bent under the flap.

It was the owner of the third voice. Ice-blue eyes peered out from beneath dirty blond hair, and when he straightened, he was taller than his colleague. He hadn't looked that tall when he'd been standing in front of the general.

It was the disobedient soldier that had shot Edward Eric. The one they'd been talking about. He indeed had a cigarette trapped between his teeth, and his expression was a cross between exasperated and amused.

Nidler straightened hurriedly, leaving him manacled, and Franklin hesitated. He still needed time to lean down and touch his feet, he needed to wait until they were all at least an arm's length away.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

The dirty blond thrust forth a piece of paper, and Nidler regarded it a moment before striding forward and ripping it out of the soldier's grasp. He unfolded it and Franklin watched his eyes scan it quickly, then go back and read it more thoroughly.

The soldier in question seemed unperturbed, and he cast a bored look around the tent, finally settling on him. Nothing about his face changed, and he didn't even move in his direction, but somehow he seemed threatening. Which was probably the point, since they knew he was off limits to anything except witnessing torture and execution. Scaring him was their only real option for intel and the scariest thing they had was the murderer of a State Alchemist. One who apparently had his sights on killing all of them. By himself.

The head shot hadn't even been clean, though in truth he hadn't had much time for aiming. It was a fair shot at best. He'd have to do better if he thought he could take down some of the more seasoned alchemists.

The guard hadn't missed Nidler's reaction. "It's legit, sir," he repeated unnecessarily, apparently not realizing they'd already heard the conversation once. "Higher-ups want to see if he can get anywhere with the general's guest."

"I can read," the alchemist snarled. "I just find it difficult to believe."

The dirty blond sighed quietly. "Sir, it wasn't my idea, but orders are orders-"

"You have no respect for orders," Nidler growled. "And I doubt I'd suffer any retaliation for taking the iron right out of your blood."

The dirty blond looked taken aback by the ferocity of Nidler's tone, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I guess that'd make me a blue blood, sir," he finally murmured, and it took Franklin a moment to decide if he was an idiot, or he'd just made a joke.

Nidler was not amused either way. "Hold him while I get confirmation on this. Outside," he added, with a glare over his shoulder that he mitigated slightly when he saw Franklin staring at him. "Don't leave the boy alone, and let him eat."

Franklin watched with interest as Nidler turned his back on him and all but herded the other two soldiers towards the tent flap. The guard decided to lead the way, and the dirty blond followed him meekly before he apparently thought of an objection. He turned quite amicably, his right arm slightly raised as if he intended to enumerate on his fingers all the reasons he should be allowed to stay, and Nidler stopped dead in his tracks.

Looking quite unsurprised at this turn of events, the blond turned back to the guard in front of him, and in two strides he'd caught up. He reached for the unsuspecting man's head and snapped his neck in the same motion. The blond soldier caught most of the weight of the body as it fell, and he lowered it to the tent floor quietly. Throughout this, Nidler stayed exactly where he was, bringing a hand up to touch his chest. With his back facing the chair, Franklin couldn't see what had happened.

Then it occurred to him to be less concerned about how the man had done it and more concerned with the fact that it had been done at all. Apparently the 'whelp' armor was not as thick as he'd originally calculated. And he wasn't going to have to worry about staying a step ahead of Mustang if he never made it out of the camp.

This man was here to kill him.

The blond turned on his heels as soon as the guard was down, and Nidler finally responded. He took a stumbling step forward with the sound of compressed air being released, the leather patch in his outstretched hand. The blond sidestepped him with ease, again moving so fluidly it almost appeared slow. He angled in, twisting the wrist holding the array until it fell, and Nidler flinched hard as the soldier went for his chest again. Franklin still couldn't see what was in the blonde's hand until he withdrew it.

A small knife, only maybe four inches long, and coated to the hilt - and the soldier's hand - with dark blood.

The soldier swung the knife into Nidler's back as a quilter would replace a needle in a pincushion, almost more for convenience's sake than to inflict additional damage, and this body, too, he had to reach out and catch. Falling bodies would make too much noise outside the tent. 

It also put the soldier's back to him.

Franklin launched himself at the man, manacles outstretched, rather than risk transmuting. Hitting him in the back of the head with the metal would be more than enough to incapacitate him, and make noise besides. Not enough noise for anyone passing by the tent to notice, but enough for the last sentry. Once that guard came in to check, he'd open his chasm and bury all of them. Then it would look like they'd either smuggled him out or taken him elsewhere to 'question' him, and both would waste time and centralize soldiers.

Somewhere in midair his plan fell apart.

Franklin meant to encounter the back of the soldier's head, but the blond hunkered forward and the movement arched the soldier's back. This in turn acted to propel him over the man entirely, and almost before he'd completely landed - flat on his face, just on the other side of Nidler's body - he felt pressure on the small of his back.

Sorn landed hard enough to knock the wind right out of him, so his shout was more like a noisy gasp. Almost like Full Metal when they'd been pumping him full of adrenaline. Not loud enough to scare a mouse, let alone get him help. Despite the rough landing, he tried to squirm beneath the canvas of the tent, but the soldier had the advantage of weight and leverage, and quite suddenly there was suffocating pressure on him and a blood-slicked hand wrapped around his chin and mouth. Franklin's head was twisted effortlessly to the side, far enough to creak but no further.

He tried to hold his breath, though he wasn't sure why, and when he had blinked twice, he was still quite aware of his surroundings. Gasping was harder than before, and small white spots danced across the seam of the tent canvas. So close. If his hands weren't bound together he could have shoved one under the tent flap, could have gotten attention. He gasped again, tasting the blood on the man's fingers, and wondered why he was getting more of a chance than either the guard or Nidler had been allowed.

Maybe the armor _was_ thick enough. Just.

"Want their help, huh?" the blond whispered, just behind his ear, and then he increased the angle on his chin, just a little. Just enough to be uncomfortable.

Franklin found the suffocating feeling was increasing exponentially, and he tried to get a deeper breath. With the man's weight on him, he couldn't, couldn't even push up with his pinned hands. Obviously the soldier felt the muscles in his back shifting, though, because the weight increased.

"Go ahead," the soldier breathed, almost coaxing. "Give me a reason."

Mouth covered as it was, he could still get some muffled noise out if he wanted to. Not that it should be necessary; his body hitting the ground should have been enough, should have been but wasn't because no one was in the tent with them. Just him and the murderer.

The soldier that had killed Edward Elric.

Panic flooded through him, gave him just enough strength to start curling his legs. His chin was angled more sharply in warning, his upper spine grinding against itself, and Sorn sucked in a good enough breath to shout. It was weak, far more muffled than he'd expected, and it came out his nose.

It had always seemed like hands over people's mouths were useless, but this one, as slick as it was, was effective in the extreme. He shook his head, trying to free his chin, but he was unable to budge that hand. It wasn't even trembling, it wasn't even effort to hold him.

It would be easy for this man to kill him. As easily as he could do it with alchemy.

A different voice, welcome as it was, was still outside the tent. "You want me in there, sir?"

The blond didn't twitch a muscle, nor did he answer, and Franklin tried to cry out again. Yet more weight was applied, silencing him as he literally could not control his exhale.

He couldn't inhale. He couldn't breathe.

Franklin struggled for all he was worth - and got nowhere. Dimly he heard a new voice, too muffled to understand, and the far-off crackle of the tent flap.

"What's the holdu-"

Sorn unthinkingly tried to twitch his head in the direction of the tent flap, but as before, his attacker didn't give an inch. There was the sound of a strike, and more crackling, then a thick silence. All he could manage were restricted little wheezes as footsteps approached.

Still, the soldier pinning him did nothing. Did he intend to use him as a hostage? 

The white spots were starting to take over.

"Took a swipe at you, did he?"

It was definitely an Amestrian accent. Even the voice itself sounded familiar, though he couldn't place it. The soldier pinning him didn't shift, didn't release him.

". . . Jean . . ?"

"Just squeezing some of the fight out of him," came the easy drawl, much further away, and his mind sluggishly caught up.

This was not help. This was an accomplice.

An Amestrian accomplice?

"Think you've squeezed enough," the second voice noted, no criticism in the tone. "We gotta go."

Franklin blinked heavy eyelids, finding that if he didn't fight so much, he could pull in tiny breaths. It was all a matter of using the air in his chest to - . . . to-

I am passing out, he realized belatedly, watching the spots even when his eyes were closed.

"Jean."

". . . I'd do anything to spare him this." To his tinny ears, the drawl seemed gone, and the man who was crushing him was Amestrian as well, suddenly. "The shit didn't even flinch, he just fucking sat there-"

"It's not our call. . . . come on. I can't leave that jeep idling forever."

There were more words that made no sense, and then suddenly he felt as if he weighed a thousand pounds. He could breathe again, but despite need he found his chest was only rising and falling when it wanted to, and it was being pulled back and forth. There was sharp, sharp pain in his arms, they were tearing off and he couldn't do anything about it but whimper until, mercifully, the pain vanished.

Odd, loud sounds teased him, they didn't come into focus until he noted how much they sounded like wood creaking in a wind-blown house. 

Not wood.

Gunshots.

Taking a deep breath and actually feeling like it for the first time in a long time, Franklin pried open his eyes to find himself staring at something flat, beige, and quite near his face. A few moments and orientation followed. He was on his side.

So he sat up.

At least he tried. Someone cuffed him so hard on the right ear he was sure it was bleeding, and he cried out from the suddenness and the pain.

"Stay down," a voice growled around the gunfire, and he was nearly jostled out of the seat by a bump. Only then did he realize they were moving.

They were moving very fast indeed.

He squinted when he could, blinking tears of pain out of his eyes to see a squat, unhealthy looking man with reddish-brown hair ducking between the two front seats, holding himself up with the headrest of the driver's seat and juggling two grenades in his free hand. He seemed very familiar, particularly when the passenger seat headrest popped a bit of insulation out and he cast an irritated look behind them.

He was the guy from the hospital that sat in the critical care wing and tried to get everyone to play chess with him. From back when he'd gotten almost flattened by Craege Irving.

He was a major in the Amestrian army. In a Cretian uniform.

The Amestrians had already infiltrated the enemy camp?

He must have noticed the confused look, because the major frowned at him, then stuffed a grenade into his mouth and pulled the pin, releasing the handle. "Fire in the hole," he called over his shoulder, but he didn't bother to toss the explosive. "You probably don't remember me," the man continued to him above another rattle of gunfire. Some of it sounded like it was coming from the front seat, but if so, who was firing . . . ? The driver?

"Major Heymans Breda, State military. Ignore the costume."

Franklin was jostled almost onto his back at another hideous bump, and once resettled, he eyed the pair of grenades in the man's hand. Remarkably Breda hadn't dropped them. Nor had he tossed the one he'd armed. 

The uniform was undoubtedly Cretian, down to some kind of insignia identifying rank, and despite his deflated appearance and odd proportions, it fit him like it was made for him. Even the sleeves were the correct length, Franklin noted, with some relief as the live grenade was tossed. It had barely left Franklin's line of sight before he heard it explode, and then there was a grinding of dirt and tires but somehow they were still going straight.

A pursuing vehicle. Or what was left of one.

Breda nodded to himself, and most of the gunfire stopped. "We're clear," he shouted to the driver, tossing the unarmed grenade down somewhere in the front seat. Then he bent into the back seat again.

"Neither of us are alchemists, so you're gonna stay trussed up till we get where we're going." It was still loud, now speaking over the wind as the jeep found a flat place and sped up. "I'm no expert, so I see anything I don't like outta you and I'm gonna put a bullet in the limb that's doing it. Get me?"

Sorn regarded him a moment. His mind was utterly blank, and he glanced up at the driver's headrest, where wind-raked, dirty blonde hair was just visible.

"But he killed Edward Elric," he heard his mouth state, rejecting the entire scenario. They couldn't possibly be Amestrian. This had to be some sort of trap or joke.

Breda's expression darkened considerably, and after a moment, he replied. 

"You're under arrest for high treason, by the way."

- x -

She forestalled the sergeant by raising an elegant, gloved hand, and was only distantly aware of surprise when it shut him up.

Gods above. They could be taught.

"A moment," she murmured, watching the goings-on with sharp eyes. Not only was one of the fools starting to walk directly across the middle of the plaza, she was holding half of a bathroom mirror with the reflective face towards the west.

A beacon of light for the enemy, these troops were. They were worse than useless, they were actually sabotaging themselves. She brought two fingertips to her head in the vain attempt to fend off an oncoming headache, from the heat of the sun as well as the enormity of her task, and that was all the cue her brother, admittedly quite a distance from her, needed.

He intercepted the idiot before she could march across the HQ parade grounds, bent almost in half to speak with her, back visibly dripping with sweat. Disgusting. Then again, her father was far worse, and his back was quite a bit hairier, she honestly wasn't sure how Mother had put up with it all these years.

The enlisted bowed low and retreated, and she watched her brother with eagle eyes as he circled the parade grounds the long way. He stepped around the fruits of his current labors, which wererather useful-looking sheets of reflective material constructed from stone and sand. The enlisted shattering them into more manageable pieces acknowledged his passing, and once again he greeted them like equals. It pained her not to shake her head, and when he finally made it to her side he did remember to salute her. She let him remain that way as an example of how he should treat inferior officers, and the sergeant that had originally approached her cleared his throat.

"Sir-"

She raised her hand again. "Silence. Brigadier General?"

He remained at attention, another surprise. "Another cache of mirrors was located in an unused locker room."

" . . . and?"

The brigadier general hesitated, and Olivier Mill Armstrong felt the rising urge to draw her sword. "The next soldier that refuses to break a mirror on the basis of superstition will die by its edge. Do I make myself clear?"

"Do be reasonable, dear sister," Alex pleaded. "It's a well-known-"

She silenced him with a look alone, and turned back to the sergeant. "Report."

He looked incredibly relieved. "Central HQ is calling for an update, major general. We've secured a line in the offices behind you, sir."

She turned after sweeping the empty parade grounds with bright blue eyes. Truly, the headquarters did look abandoned, and that was exactly what she was counting on. If these morons didn't blunder out for battle too early, it might even go as planned.

"There was enough northern gear on the last train to outfit the twelfth and thirteenth battalions," Alex murmured, once the sergeant was dismissed. "A peat packing plant in the city has yielded a fine tar that will work for our purposes."

She snorted as they headed toward the main HQ building, under the protection of the covered walkway. Flimsy thing wouldn't last ten minutes in the north. Not that this was the north, and she needed to remind herself of it. Nearly twenty years in Briggs had made her too accustomed to fighting the terrain more than the enemy.

Had she had Buccaneer and Miles with her, she was fairly certain the four of them alone could hold this plot of soil longer than the two thousand Hakuro had given her.

Two thousand men. And the city's static station of another three and a half. Five and a half thousand against what appeared to their binoculars, for all intents and purposes, as a giant cloud of dust.

There would be no more reinforcements. Shipping them in civilian clothes, with their northern gear in the baggage trains, was a painfully inefficient process. To his credit, the general had gotten her what she'd quite explicitly asked for, but it wasn't much.

Then again, she was used to dealing with not much.

They pushed through the double doors, entering the cool, crisp environment that was West City's HQ, and the open office door was clearly the one the sergeant had intended. She turned in the jamb, refusing to tilt her chin up, preferring to stare through her eyebrows at her brother.

"Distance?"

His expression was grim. "An hour or less."

The enemy was making excellent time. "Keep those idiots out of the parade grounds if you have to kill them," she growled. "And for god's sake, put your uniform back on."

He saluted sharply but she ignored it, striding across the West HQ colonel's office and plucking the receiver up off the smooth mahogany desk. "Major General Olivier Armstrong speaking."

". . . please hold for the Prime Minister."

She closed her eyes in acquiescence, watching the pile of muscles that was her younger brother pulling his uniform undershirt out of the back of his pants, where it had gone only after she'd threatened to have him shot if he ripped through one more of them. West was permeated by lazy, slovenly, but oddly thin men and there were few uniforms in his size.

It was also incredibly embarrassing. It was as if he was still a major, instead of being on the cusp of a major general. Today would have been the ceremony, if not for this little distraction.

"The Prime Minister." There was the brief pop that always accompanied transferring a secured line, then a smooth voice she was growing quite weary of hearing.

"Good afternoon, major general."

"Good afternoon, sir," she responded icily. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

A tired-sounding chuckle. "I'm afraid I'm only interested in your report, major general."

"The stationed men are lazy and inept, and I doubt the physical reports I have seen here in records so I ordered an audit, sir."

"Are you sure that was a wise assignment of personnel?"

A shadow crossed the window, and Olivier walked to it, staring out across the parade grounds. One of the fools was still in plain sight, opening the main ground gates, and admittedly, she could understand some of their recalcitrance at her orders. In Briggs she demanded and received instant compliance from her men because she had earned it. Here, she had usurped their commanding officer, ordered them into northern uniform head gear, smeared tar all over their faces, and covered them in every bit of reflective material that could be gotten from both base and civilian estates. The end result was a soldier that looked more like a fashion reject than anything else.

"They'll hold." They didn't have a choice, fit or not. "The enemy should be here within the hour." Which meant it was already past late afternoon in Central, so Mustang knew well what it meant.

"Numbers?"

She was used to judging shadows on white, not dust on a grassy ridge. "No more than eighteen thousand."

A brief pause. "Any news from the advance team?"

"No, sir." Nor did she expect any at this juncture. They would probably steer wide of West and find a border town.

Mustang apparently came to the same conclusion, and Olivier sharpened her attention as the soldier at the gate admitted what appeared to be a civilian leading a horse-drawn cart. "Perhaps I've spoken too soon."

"A moment, major general."

He was obviously relaying the step up in time tables to the room at large, and Major General Armstrong opened the casement window, trying to overhear the conversation across the grounds. A horse-drawn cart could be laden with explosives, what incompetent officer had actually allowed it on the base grounds -

The horse was led in a wide circle, back toward the gate, and then she had her answer. The cart was mostly empty save a figure dangling from the end. There was a flash of silver in a mess of gold hair, and what looked like a couple spare bits of brightly polished metal deeper in the cart bed. The figure shifted bonelessly as the cart came to an eventual halt, and even at her distance, their shouts carried clearly.

Her brother was there instantly, and with the window open his soft cry was unmistakable. His broad back blocked her view for a moment, and then he'd gathered the pathetic figure into his arms as one might a broken child.

"I apologize for that, Major General. You were saying?"

She didn't mince words. "We've just received the Cretian declaration of war."

A long pause. "A civilian?"

"A State Alchemist." It was confirmed as her brother immediately hurried off with the body, and the flash of silver slipped from the figure's lolling head to the ground unnoticed. "They removed the armor. I'll take care of silencing the personnel here." No need to dishonor him with widespread public knowledge that the automail was false.

Mustang seemed to be at a loss. "Did you-"

"Two of my men are automail users." Edward Elric's automail had been far too warm and light to have been real. Shaking his hand in the Academy had told her that much. And clearly it was no surprise to Mustang. Not that she'd expected it.

"You're certain?"

Armstrong eyed the darkly stained wood, plainly visible as the horse was unharnessed. Head wounds bled considerably, and it wasn't likely the enemy had made a mistake. Then again, as soft as he was, it wasn't like her brother to cuddle the dead. Not since Ishbal, at any rate. "I'll have confirmation at next communication."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I really am sorry this update took so long. Real life again. Such a pain. Standard typo disclaimer applies. Thank you all very much! I have reviews in the triple digits! This is a first, at least on this site.

So! All we have left to do is wrap up a badly outmatched battle. All assassins found, all plots revealed. Took me long enough to get here, huh? ; ) But I anticipate there's still another ten chapters or so left . . . and no remaining plot reveals per se, but the careful reader should already know where this is going . . . 


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Earlier this evening, roughly one hour ago, forces from Creta laid siege around West City."

Winry Rockbell glanced at the radio but didn't adjust it, much as she wanted to. Hearing him talk so cavalierly about war set her teeth on edge.

"You'll break something at that rate," Pinako admonished her, and she relaxed her jaw immediately and turned to her grandmother with a bright smile.

"That's not much better," the woman muttered, and Winry let it fall. Trust granny to see right through it. Right through everything, she always had and she always woul-

Not always.

Pinako sighed and watched the ceiling instead, giving her time to compose herself, and then spoke over the even voice of their Prime Minister. "I thought it was Drachma that was going to invade. Either way, war means work. You'll need to head home soon if you expect to be ready for it."

It was true. War always meant hideous injury, and once doctors like Patterson had done all they could, it was up to mechanics like her and granny to make them as good as new. Better, even. "I once made a set of automail here, you know."

A quiet chuckle. "Not that it went to much use."

And it hadn't. The automail she'd made for Edward had been unnecessary. By the time he'd left the hospital he'd had a flesh arm and leg, and she had turned her skills to armor, instead. Sacrificing a perfectly good automail arm in the process, but the real shame had been that she'd installed the port on his arm after his surgery. In the end, the port had been entirely unnecessary, and she would have spared him that pain if she could have.

Not that he was showing much appreciation. Hadn't even come to visit them in days. Then again, with war obviously here, he and Al were probably in the thick of things as always.

Leaving her behind again. As always.

The one thing she wanted to stay the same was changing, and the one thing she wanted to change was staying the same. 

"Winry, dear, come here."

She stood immediately, coming over to the side of the bed with the IV. It constantly bothered her, and she was half afraid if it burned one more time her grandmother was going to pull it and that would be that. Pinako shook her head and patted the side of the bed. "Sit."

A little hesitantly, she did so. Even as a child she hadn't been allowed to crawl into granny's bed unless it was a bad storm. Nightmares or frights would get her sent back to her own room with strict instructions to go back to bed and stop bothering her with that nonsense. And it wasn't like Pinako would ever let anyone take care of _her_ . . .

"The house, the tools, all of it, that's yours. No one left on your father's side of the family to leave it to."

Winry turned her face away immediately. "I told you I don't want to discuss this yet," she said, as respectfully as she could manage.

"What you want and what is are not always the same," her granny responded sensibly. "I'm not getting back on a train. These old bones have had enough."

"And I'm not leaving you here," she snapped in return, before she could help it. "It'll be weeks before anyone injured in the fighting today will be ready for a measuring, let alone a port."

She refused to look at her grandmother, though she could feel the searching gaze on her cheek. She wasn't going to leave her. She wasn't going to let her chase her home only to get a phone call. Yes, watching someone die was hard, but dying alone had to be harder, and it wasn't the boys' responsibility, they'd already seen one mom go and while she'd lost her own as well nothing could be worse than getting that letter.

Nothing.

"I'm not getting another letter," she growled, when the silence became too much. "I'm staying."

"You're a stubborn fool," Pinako grumbled right back, in exactly the same tone. She tried not to respond, but the idea that she and granny were behaving exactly the same way was funny, and then it was downright hilarious. She couldn't stop the smile, and then the bed started shaking as Pinako laughed at herself.

When they were done, Winry felt a little better, and she wondered if maybe granny had done that on purpose. "I know you want me to go," she tried again, less angry, "but I'm not going to leave you here. Next thing I know you and the old crab will be running off to have a honeymoon on the beach and I'll be stuck with all the work!"

"Ackernath?" Oddly, it was almost considering. "He does remind me a little of your grandfather, or what he would have become if I hadn't beaten out the knots," she added darkly. "But training one of those in a lifetime is enough. James is far too set in his ways to waste time on at this point."

Winry raised an eyebrow playfully. "James? You're on a first name basis with the moth-eaten grouch?"

"He's younger than I am," she replied drily, but Winry refused to look apologetic. 

"When did you get his first name?" All they ever did when he appeared was snarl at one another, though never about anything in particular. Her refusal to eat prunes, his prescription of ineffective drugs, noise levels in the hospital, smoking policies-

In fact, her pipe was nowhere to be seen.

"From one of the nurses, when he declared me a incontinent harpy."

Winry boggled. "Why did you ask for it?"

"Because he doesn't like to be called Jimmy."

Winry stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. "You're joking."

Pinako shook her head, reminding Winry that her hair desperately needed to be washed. It had been in that bun for almost as long as she could remember, and to see it down and behind granny's head just made her look that much older.

That much softer. She needed to be in her apron, sorting through the wires or at the drill press. She wasn't that old.

Winry fought down the usual lump in her throat, instead jumping up and picking up the washing basin in the corner. "Well, then I guess we should wash your hair so that when 'Jimmy' comes back in he isn't dealing with a _real_ harpy."

She carried it to the small bathroom off the main patient room, but Pinako's voice carried to her just the same, a hint of steel where none had been before. "Dear, I believe you forgot your tact in Resembool."

- x -

"I didn't know anyone could make war so blasé."

Roy Mustang accepted the folder from Challiel without looking up or slowing down. It didn't stop Speaker Morian from matching him stride for stride. If he didn't know better, he'd think the man was after his job.

Unlike Hakuro, who made no bones about it.

"I'm sure the people will be comforted."

"Is there something specific I can do for you?" Challiel was at a loss to get the parasite off his back, and the set of her chin gave away her frustration. If he could have dismissed her easily he would have. Much as she tried, she couldn't protect him from everything.

Roy heard Morian's easy smile in his voice. "I just wanted to congratulate you, Minister. It seems we were all under your excellent illusion, all this time."

His smile was as clipped as his tone. "Thank you. Was there anything else?"

"I just wanted to get the truth from the horse's mouth, as it were," he continued silkily. "The Speaker of the House has been a bit tight-lipped since around noon today, shortly after leaving a meeting with you and General Hakuro."

A meeting that was absolutely by the book, and the transcription was probably in the First Library by now. "I would be happy to meet with you later this evening. I am nearly late to an appointment with my military advisors."

"I'll walk with you," the representative offered graciously, and Mustang didn't so much as tighten his jaw, turning the corner for the long set of stairs. The janitorial staff had done the best they could, but he could still smell burnt fat and protein, and probably would every time he walked through this hallway. Which was fitting, in a way, since he'd lost the eye remnant to Johann Irving and thus no longer had a direct way of being reminded of his mistakes by his subconscious.

He'd see the shadow in his office. A page of a book would turn and others would blame the air handling system, but he'd know. Or maybe the large map now hanging there would constantly shift as if the left edge, the western edge, was slightly heavier than the rest of the map.

Or maybe it wouldn't be so pleasant as that. Burnt human wasn't, and sending a man to die was the same crime as killing him outright.

Only Fletcher was still alive. Alive and well and sleeping, if the note tucked behind the military formations and the logistics of now openly sending reinforcements to West was to be believed. With his brother and Alphonse Elric treating the burn. They could probably prevent most of the scarring, though there was nothing to be done about the nerves, which he knew well he'd damaged. Fletcher would never be one hundred percent with that hand, but while it might be largely numb, he would probably still be able to manipulate it. Write with it. Transmute with it.

Morian was speaking, and Mustang forced himself to listen. He couldn't process yet. Not yet. Just take in data and make decisions. Processing could wait. Could wait for a dark room and a darker bottle, and heavens only knew when he'd get the chance.

The fact that Hakuro seemed to share his confidence in Armstrong was a comfort, but not much. They'd sent her in woefully unprepared for the numbers she'd given him. Outnumbered over three to one, with the sun in her eyes. The only saving grace was that they'd had time to get most of the civilians out of the city.

You cannot process right now. Listen.

"-rumor is that you knew it was Creta all along," the politician was crooning. "Keeping everyone in the dark until you located the spy, only to find it was it was your personal doctor. Was that part of your plan? To keep him close until you'd enticed the enemy to war?"

He took the stairs two at a time. "Obviously not," he heard himself snap, and he forced a deep breath. Losing his cool now would be a disaster. "There are extenuating circumstances-"

"Yes, this other man you're holding here in the building," Morian murmured, following him to the second flight without the slightest sign of tiring. "An alchemist, they say, but not a State Alchemist. Does he have ties to the rogue alchemist that attacked the city half a year ago?"

"You'd need to ask Hakuro, who is in charge of his interrogation." He handed the folder back to Challiel, which also gave him an excuse to give her a tiny nod. It wasn't her fault. He'd just made a speech both to Parliament at large and also over the radio, confirming rumors that Amestris was at war. So long as Tolya held to their agreement and Hakuro didn't make an extremely risky move for the Prime Minister's seat, the situation wouldn't explode. Even if Olivier was defeated, Creta would hold in West to get reinforcements of their own. It was a city lost, but not a country.

And with news of Fullmetal's apparent death, he had his doubts as to whether he was ever going to hear from his advance team again. If they didn't have Franklin Sorn, then Creta did. They might have been captured right along with him. If Armstrong managed to pull them out of the fire, all three could be recovered if still alive. He couldn't discount the idea that Sorn might have defected altogether, since Creta was obviously oblivious to his true goal, and they might be smuggling him back across the border as the sun was setting.

Of course, the sun wasn't setting in West. The sun was just starting to sink to the horizon.

"My colleagues and I are of course grateful to you for your correct actions in holding off hostilities with Drachma," Morian continued. "But with West so poorly defended for all of your scheming, I was curious that you didn't reveal any plans to deploy the National Alchemists."

Roy actually glanced at the man. "Excuse me?"

Morian shrugged. "You had stated that the State Alchemists would be assigned to the front lines if there was risk of a city falling. Clearly you recognize that risk, as does the State military."

He topped the second landing, eyeing the distance to his office. Too far to ignore the man. "Brigadier General Alex Louis Armstrong has been deployed, acting as a military officer. If Major General Armstrong determines she needs his expertise, she has orders to utilize him in that role."

"Only one at a time?" A slight tone of surprise. "Historically three or four have always been dispatched to control territory this large-"

"Historically the State Alchemists were misused," he interrupted. "Brigadier General Armstrong is especially suited for this type of combat."

"And that is your professional opinion?"

He heard the trap snapping around him but for the life of him he couldn't see it. "Where are you going with this, Speaker?"

"I want to make sure you're not gunshy," Morian said bluntly. "The people are accustomed to our neighbors fearing the National Alchemists, and eliminating that fear would seem to put us at a military disadvantage. Particularly if a well-known alchemist was to be defeated."

Some cold slithered into his gut, and Roy wondered what would happen if he claimed Morian was a spy and covered up one odiferous mistake with another. 

He knew. How the hell could he know-

Hakuro.

"I am confident that the brigadier general will be fine," he repeated, speaking in a slow, considering voice just to give himself more time to get to his door. "If you'll excuse me, there are other matters that require my attention."

"Of course, Minister," he murmured, giving a slight bow. "I look forward to tomorrow's session."

Mustang passed through the doorway, pleased when Brooks remained exactly where he was. It wasn't worth having him follow the politician to determine his allegiances, it was clear he was just flaunting the fact that he still had an in with Hakuro. Using the rumor of Fullmetal's death to rattle his chains, remind him he wasn't all-powerful even though he'd been right about Drachma.

If the general had already told them that their Prime Minister in fact hadn't known about Creta all along, if he'd broken his word -

In his anger, he ended up walking almost to his desk before he recognized that the military groups he'd called were gathered around his conference table, and he rifled through the folders there for a second to give himself an excuse for it.

It was possible Morian was unhappy that Hakuro had aligned with him, and was trying to plant distrust between them. But then, how could he have known about Fullmetal . . .?

There was nothing to know about Fullmetal. There was no confirmation. Patterson had been giving the Cretains information, and he knew it wasn't automail. This body with armor could be a decoy, but even so, it was still a dead Amestrian, and it still meant the same thing.

Only, somehow, it didn't. It didn't feel like the same thing at all.

- x - 

"He's sleeping."

Alphonse tried very hard to keep his lips still as he realized the hushed whisper was referring to him, and not to Fletcher, who was, as far as he knew, also asleep.

In fact, last thing he knew, they'd _all_ been asleep. The whisper had probably been what woke him.

"Wouldn't you both be more comfortable in the guest wing?"

As far as he was concerned, the fact that the guards had dragged two cots into the staging room was all the comfort he could possibly want. He was nestled quite snuggly into his, with a warm and probably not prisoner-issue blanket cocooned around him. It had been a while since he's slept lying down, and he'd been so exhausted after the alchemy that he was surprised anything had woken him at all.

"I'm staying here."

Al waited until he was reasonably sure neither of the speakers were looking at him, and he cracked an eye open. He was on his right side, still being mindful of his shoulder, and had a good view of Fletcher, who was also nesting in his own pile of blankets. The arm was outside of the sheets, wrapped in clean white gauze, and it didn't appear to be stained.

It still needed work. Apparently they had to let it heal for twenty four hours at this point, to get the right amount of materials back into Fletcher's body before the next round of treatments. It made sense, it was rather like slowly transmuting a dam as more mud and rock trickled its way to you. Multiple transmutations since all the ingredients weren't there yet.

And, of course, some of the ingredients were alive. They could help his body heal, but they couldn't do it for him without Incomplete Stone, the same way Marcoh had when he'd fled Central to become a doctor. Healing alchemy was a constant balance between toeing the line and being patient.

It was something nii-san was certainly not suited for. However, Russ had declared him a natural, and that compliment had made him feel happier than he had in a long time. It was offhand, honest, and exactly the same way he would have said something last month.

Russell had forgiven him. Maybe he'd forgiven him on the train, but to see the change in Russell had been astonishing. It was as if he had something to live for again.

As for Fletcher, he was sleeping off pain meds and an exhausting night of fear and agony, and was untroubled by the rusty voice of his brother and someone who sounded vaguely familiar. Al didn't want to let them know they'd woken him, so he closed his eye again and relaxed a little more into the warmth of the cot.

"I have orders to send Alphonse Elric to the HQ hospital," the unfamiliar voice murmured. It was feminine, but clearly neither the colonel nor Lt. Ross. Who he hoped was getting some shuteye of her own.

"Oh, shit, I forgot," Russ muttered, slightly louder in surprise. "Let him sleep. I'll take care of it when he wakes up."

"With all due respect, I've orders to escort you to the same place." It was apologetic. "You must understand, the general -"

"Does the Prime Minister know about this?"

The woman hesitated. "I don't know, sir."

"I think he'd say we can stay."

Al was pretty sure that would be the case, injuries be damned. 

"Of course, the general is only concerned about your injuries-"

"We're fine," Russell said softly. "Thank the general for his concern, but he can stick his orders in his ear."

It was very, very hard not to laugh, and Al curled around the drowsy feeling still enveloping him. Hakuro wouldn't take their word for it that Fletcher was no threat, it would take a battery of military-administered medical tests and a zillion interviews before he was satisfied. So the fact that Fletcher was still, for all intents and purposes, in a cell, wasn't particularly troubling to either of them. And, as Russ pointed out, Mustang owed the Tringums.

Though probably not from Roy's point of view. They probably owed _him_ for taking the risk in the first place. He couldn't have afforded to trust Fletch, couldn't have afforded to let him transmute. Which Fletcher had already admitted, shamefaced, that he'd tried to do.

Of course, when confronted with thousand degree explosions and death, he'd probably have done the same thing. Added to it that Fletcher had done it on instinct, not even knowing whether or not it would work - at least he'd have died knowing the answer.

That probably would have been more comfort than it sounded, he mused fuzzily as the soldier struggled to find a way to argue with Russ. Good luck, he thought to her. It was like arguing with Ed.

"I can't do that, sir," the woman admonished, and Russ snorted.

"No, I suppose not. Look, the Prime Minister trumps the military in matters of State Alchemists. He and I are certified. I'm not moving until Mustang tells me." And probably not even then.

The soldier seemed willing to give it up at that point, and Al had nearly drifted off again before she spoke again.

"He must have been very tired."

"He'll be okay," Russ said fondly, and Al determined that they were talking about Fletcher again.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir." A slight pause. "I'll summon a doctor here for you."

Russ grunted, neither accepting nor refusing, and the next thing Al knew a hand was on his shoulder.

The one he wasn't lying on. The left one.

He respond in the fashion he thought was appropriate, which was to clamp his right hand around the wrist of whoever was touching him. "Not. That shoulder," he growled, blinking in the dim at someone in a pressed white doctor's coat. 

The man seemed extremely surprised. "Reflexes are good," he noted absently, then lightly tugged on his hand until Al let him go. "Let me get a look at that, if you would, son."

Al sat up, a little crossly, and let the man look at him. He received a flat stare. "Your shirt, sir."

Trying to quell both his irritation and the need to yawn, Al peeled it off, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. It must have been much worse for Fletch, in shock, but with that burn. Shivering and burning up all at the same time. Al was just sleepy and cold, thus had no room to complain.

His shoulder was examined, poked, prodded, and then manipulated exactly as Patterson had done, only not nearly as gently, smoothly, or with the same results. By the time he was done with his 'examination,' the damn thing hurt almost as much as it had when he'd been rattling around in the train after the fight with Blane.

Which was another good reason to keep Russ down here, Al realized. It kept him from remembering that he wanted to kill the guy.

"It's quite inflamed," the doctor noted, scribbling on the chart. "I see you were last prescribed something out of the debarred Dr. Patterson's stores. Let's see if we can give you something a little safer, eh?" Just the way he worked it in there, almost smugly, set Al's teeth on edge, and he glared murderously in front of him.

Unfortunately, Russ was in front of him. He held up a hand at the look. "It was let the guy in or get hauled out," he said quickly. "You were sleeping, so I made the call."

"I'd like to still be sleeping," he grumbled, casting another look at Fletch. Still dead to the word. Probably would be for several more hours. They'd made certain he'd been given something that could work on the pain. Commercial as well, though Fletcher was hardly the first burn victim in the country. And probably not the last, given how wound up Mustang currently was.

"I can help you with that," the doctor offered, holding out two large yellow pills and a small cup of water. "They might make you a bit dizzy, so it's best to lie down immediately after taking them."

Al swallowed them only after inspecting them for a manufacturing imprint. Even with the quip, he wanted to make sure. Patterson was well-liked, and for good reason. He really was a good doctor, and from the outside it would look like they'd had a hand to play in getting him debarred. 

The doctor watched him, making sure he'd taken them, and then he took the offered cup. "They work quickly, and should relax you," he said it what was plainly supposed to be a comforting voice. "The pain will fade as soon as you're not so tense."

"I'm not tense," he muttered. He certainly hadn't started out that way, but after the physical therapy it was killing him. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Murly. I'm the staff doctor for the officers under General Hakuro," he replied proudly. "I'm on loan to the Prime Minister and his staff until he has found a suitable replacement." Another not-so-subtle reminder, and Al bristled.

Russ clearly saw danger on its way, because he interrupted right about then. "My ribs are fine, no need to poke them."

The doctor chuckled dryly, and then it occurred to Al that the link to Hakuro might have been what he'd sensed. No, he decided grumpily, that was too dramatic, even for him. He pulled his shirt back on, huddling back down under the blankets as he waited for the meds to work.

Murly hadn't been kidding. For oral drugs, they hit fast. He could feel the moment they crept into his brain, and he made a face. Patterson's stuff managed to work without putting you into an oblivious cloud.

Patterson almost killed you, he reminded himself.

But didn't. Had all the opportunity in the world, even though he got as near to getting Franklin as Fletcher had.

Why hadn't Patterson gone for him? Why had he spared him? Was that what he'd meant when he'd kicked him out of the room with a 'before I change my mind' ?

It all began to muddle fuzzily, and Al shifted in irritation. His limbs felt heavy, as did his eyelids, but for all that he was detached, the shoulder hurt just as badly. Had the quack given him a muscle relaxer but nothing else?

"Hey, doc."

Murly was still there, and soon entered his field of vision. He frowned. "Still hurts."

The man patted his good shoulder. "Just relax, my boy."

This was not a helpful response. "Can I have something else?"

"Oh, you've had quite enough," the doctor chuckled. "Just give it time to work."

"It's working at making me sick. Not doing anything for the pain."

Murly just patted him and gave him a smile, then walked out of his line of sight. More irritated than before, Al picked up his head to flag down Russ to get him some aspirin when the room took a violent left turn and almost dumped him into the wall. It wasn't until he'd put it back down and stayed still for a _long_ time that he realized he was in fact still in the cot.

What the hell was this stuff . . .?

He was drifting off again, but this time it was not warm and pleasant. It was lurching and nauseating, the same of narcotics the world around. The shoulder was still cutting right through it, though it had relaxed him well. He couldn't even summon the will to move his right arm over to shift his left.

"What did you give him?" It was almost an annoying buzz rather than a voice.

"Something to calm him down."

"He was calm," Russell interjected, though it seemed like a tremendous amount of time had passed.

"The general thought it best that we not have a repeat performance of you," Murly responded after an eternity, and Al realized he was actually falling asleep between their responses and being woken again. He also determined that he wanted to throw up.

" . . . what?"

"You were nearly killed, as I heard it. They say the colonel almost took off both your heads."

"-ould know that she missed on purpose. It was a warning shot. Besides, why would he?"

"-essenger yet?"

"-ell is going on ! ?"

"-yone's on their toes, you know, if he was to get angry and demand to see the Prime Minister . . . If someone misinterpreted his intentions it could result in serious injury-"

"-saying?"

"-ell you."

The next thing Al knew, his face was being patted. Irritated, he tried to shake it off, and his left shoulder burned hot and clear through the fog. His eyes snapped open to see Russell Tringum looking at him in concern.

"Shit," he grumbled. "They gave you enough to take down a horse."

Al blinked owlishly at him, wondering why everything felt so slow. There was concrete and stone above him, and it was dim, and his shoulder was killing him. Russ muttered something, then slapped him. Hard.

"Don't go to sleep on me!"

"'m not!" he snapped, picking up his head and trying to scoot away from his assailant. His stomach lurched a little, and the room spun a little -

Drugs. Doctor.

Drugged. They'd drugged him.

His alarm must have been obvious, because Russ backed off and let him throw back the sheet. "I couldn't get it all," he was saying apologetically. "You probably want to stay on your ass another few minutes."

He was finding that was wise advice, so he moved his feet over the side of the cot, fumbling with the sling. "What the hell just happened?"

"Hakuro is trying to keep you away from Mustang is what happened," Russ growled. "I don't know why, and I'd find out myself except he was also trying to get me out of here. He can't remove me but he can deny either of us access back here."

Meaning if Russ left getting back in would be a nightmare and require Mustang's permission, and since there was a war going on it was likely to take a long time. A long time in which Hakuro could have any tests run on Fletch he wanted. A glance at the cell told him Fletcher was still asleep, completely unaware of what had happened.

Lucky him. "How much time?" It could have been hours.

"Twenty minutes. Long enough for them to confirm you were out and beat it. And they did," he added. "So no one should be expecting you."

Why would Hakuro do that? If Mustang wanted him he'd just summon him -

And find him drugged out of his mind and no help whatsoever.

Al nodded, getting to his feet and hanging onto the bars of the cell for dear life as the world spun. And through it all, his shoulder was still killing him. "Didn't say why?"

"Said it was classified." Russ looked as angry as Al felt. "I still want to smash his face in," Russ continued, "but I suppose the bastard's been good to me. Didn't think you'd want to hang him out to dry."

Al just nodded, once, and regretted it. "Thanks." Another few minutes and he'd be okay to walk.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: So, after so much action, we had to have a do-nothing chapter. In which Hakuro may be stabbing Mustang in the back . . . or doing him a favor. Standard typo disclaimer applies. I have replaced section separators in this and a few other of the stories, and will get around to the rest of them eventually, but in the meantime, I'm sorry they vanished! It must have made reading last chapter pretty damn confusing.

So, next chapter, let's see . . . we have a battle going on in West and an Al with a mission. Sounds like something for everyone! Until then, Happy Easter! Mm, deviled eggs . . .


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

For poorly trained, inadequately equipped soldiers who were out of both their element and wits, they weren't doing as badly as she'd expected.

A bullet winged by, fairly close, and she ignored it, scanning the horizon with the binoculars she'd borrowed from Colonel Mazo. He had decent taste in his own personal equipment, and was actually making headway with his broken arrow formation. She'd given him fully half the armor division, since he clearly had the best knowledge of the nearby city and terrain, and he was using it to his best advantage.

Another bullet pinged by, quite a bit closer, and she let her frown deepen, just slightly. The entire point of the three snipers on the observation tower with her were to protect her from enemy snipers. If the enemy were truly such bad shots even without having to worry about return fire, they'd been a complete waste of resources.

Of course, considering the observation tower, like most of the ground troops, was reflecting the setting sun right back into the faces of the Cretian forces, she wasn't the easy target she seemed.

It had been a stroke of brilliance of the enemy general to attack in late afternoon. It put the sun directly in the defender's eyes and at the backs of the Cretians, easily overcoming the inherent advantage defenders had. What they hadn't counted on, however, was a suddenly glaring wall of HQ and a blinding front line, every available inch covered in reflective materials, with thick black stripes beneath their eyes, wearing their northern anti-glare visors.

Snow was by far the worst reflector she knew. It would cripple both sides in the north, which is why the visors were standard issue. They acted to further block the glare of the sun, and with the black stripes adding to the effect the overall result was a zero gain from the environment for the attackers. In fact, they were at a disadvantage, as they'd clearly been counting on the sun to help.

Her teams dispatched into the city had also been successful in setting up their ambushes. Randomly placed reflective surfaces that looked like snipers or men in ambush. The true snipers were in plainclothes, and the ambushing soldiers in their original, unadorned uniforms. The tactic was having a staggering effect on the morale of the attackers.

They'd been counting on an easy victory, and now the visible commanders were throwing tantrums like fat children being chased out of a candy store.

Once they finished pissing and moaning, though, they were going to regroup. The first wave had collided and Amestris hadn't yet lost ground, but unfortunately, the first wave was the only wave she had. They had to hold another four hours before reinforcements from South would arrive.

She knew well why Mustang had cut it so close, and she couldn't fault his logic, but this wasn't Briggs, and these weren't her men. Of all the times to set her up to fail-

Something tugged on the pad of her left shoulder, and she thinned her lips. "Use your rifles or give them to a soldier that will."

"We can't spot 'em, Major General sir!"

Amateurs. Having not seen active combat since Liore was no excuse.

"Brigadier General!"

"I have him," came the rumble almost immediately, and she closed her eyes when she heard the tearing of fabric. Would it kill him to keep his clothes on when fighting? Or speaking? Or walking? Mother had been right. If he kept that up, he would be a bachelor for life.

She continued scanning the horizons, looking for the next wave, even as she heard her younger brother prying a brick off the observation tower. With hardly a pause and a roar of effort, the so-familiar crash of metal bracer and stone sounded just next to her, and she didn't bother to follow the projectile. It would hit the sniper, or close enough that it would identify the position to her snipers.

"Get his spotter as well," she instructed them, hopefully unnecessarily. It was hard to tell with this group.

"Your uniform has been torn, sister-"

"So has yours," she snapped. "Do you intend to go into combat without a uniform at all?"

"I have not yet seen signs of enemy alchemists." It was slightly hurt, and she resisted the urge to nail him across the face with the binoculars. It wouldn't make a bit of difference to him, and ruin the equipment besides.

That, and he had a point. There had been no signs of enemy alchemists, and that was a problem. They would have been foolish to enter a battle with Amestris and not bring human weapons of their own, armors and artillery notwithstanding. They were nearly finished getting their long-range launchers into position, though she was fairly certain her small teams would be at least fifty percent successful in destroying them.

She didn't really want to deploy her brother until she had to. Once he was gone it would be too difficult to place him elsewhere, and rank be damned, they hadn't seriously fought since she was thirteen. He'd made a difference during the invasion of Central, but basic tactics hadn't been demonstrated since Liore.

Which was not a shining moment on his record. She wasn't sure she could trust him as far as she could throw him. There would be civilians in the city that hadn't had the sense to flee. There would be casualties. If he responded as he had before -

"Neither have I," she grumbled, setting herself to her task once again. The enemy general did not have the advantage of an observation tower, she had to be out there someone.

Intelligence said the top Cretian generals were both female. Terese Enora and Anya Sein. She wasn't sure if both would have been deployed, but if they had been, winning the war would be almost too easy.

If only one or the other would show their faces before she ran out of men.

One of her snipers fired, then was shortly congratulated by his spotter. Finally, one of them was useful.

"There may be an alchemist approaching the main gates," her brother observed, and she dropped her scanning to be quite a bit closer. Almost directly beneath her was a small team of men moving in, having cut around one of Mazo's armor divisions. They were encountering one of her skirmish teams, but Alex was right. One man, in a uniform with a sidearm but no rifle, was dodging between clotheslines in an alley parallel with the fighting.

Obviously intent on the building.

She was slightly mollified when Alex pried off another brick, and this time she watched with the naked eye as he tossed it into the air and slammed his fist into it. A perfectly aerodynamic bust of their father went hurtling down towards the alchemist, but she could see immediately it wasn't directly aimed for the man. It impacted the building to his right, just above him, and rained debris down on top of him.

She scoffed. "Do you intend to fight or play?" If he'd just killed him outright, there was no need to test him and discover his flavor of alchemy.

"I would be surprised to find he was alone," Alex murmured mildly, scanning the rest of the west face of the HQ walls. "There, another on the opposite side. It appears they are coordinating their efforts." Sure enough, there was another solider also conspicuously missing a rifle, clearly concerned for the safety of his comrade.

Creating two new doors instead of one. That would be a problem. "Very well. Dissuade them," she ordered, and no sooner had she done it then he flipped lightly out of the tower, onto the sloping roof of the main building. As lightly as anything that bulky could, he nimbly danced across the tiles and gutters, and with an irritated huff she went back to watching the horizon.

He would probably try to take them prisoner, but for now he was still within yelling distance. Without his shirt he was a questionable target, though nancing around on the West HQ roof sort of gave him away.

"Cover him," she growled at the two snipers on his end of the building, and they jumped to obey. Hopefully they'd be of more use to him than they had been to her.

A puff of smoke looking no bigger than a cotton ball caught her attention, and she brought the binoculars to bear. It took several seconds for the sound to get to her, and very shortly thereafter a large section of a manufacturing warehouse collapsed. Their artillery was operable.

It was likely that random shelling wouldn't cripple her men too badly. They were too thinly spread to hit, with the exception of Mazo's armor division. And they were involved in too much close combat with the first wave of armors to attack, at least until they figured out distance and shell weights. For now, all they were doing was narrowing the number of avenues battle could take place on a wide scale.

They were also paving the way for her second tier ambush parties, who until now had been cooling their heels on the off chance the front line was breached. With any luck their commanders would move them shortly and take advantage of the guerrilla-style environment they were creating. That terrain worked both ways, just like any other trench on an open field of snow. They were useful to either side, depending on who controlled what.

She scanned behind the artillery carefully. It was the highest point outside the city to view the battle, the general had to be somewhere out there. Probably doing exactly what she was doing, standing with her own lieutenants by her side.

There was a roar of anger somewhere from below, cutting through the chatter of automatic fire and armor blasts. He sounded a great deal like Papa when he was incensed, but simple yelling had failed to faze her since she was six. It only meant someone had goaded her brother into a rage, trying - and succeeding - in breaking his concentration.

Doubtlessly the enemy alchemist was extolling the great tortures suffered by Edward Elric before his execution, or going on about how he'd wept as he begged for death, or some other drek the noble could not bear to hear. It was inconsequential, because she'd just located the enemy general.

She was indeed standing just apart from the main party of officers, holding binoculars of her own, with dark brown hair plaited quite plainly around her face. Keeping it out of her way. It was too difficult to tell at this distance what she was looking at, but she was clearly the most decorated officer Olivier had spied yet, and that made her a target.

The easiest way to defeat large numbers was to demoralize the troops. Killing their general was the best single action that could be taken to accomplish that task. Her men had set the stage, she need only appear at the right time.

The general was a good mile out of the city proper, on the ridge of a trampled field of wheat. Meeting her for a duel was possible but not nearly prominent enough, she really needed to be in view of more of her men for it to work.

Armstrong let the binoculars fall to dangle around her chest, turning without another word and heading down the narrow staircase to HQ proper.

- x -

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He nodded to Brooks as he passed, and he received the usual suspicious glare. No motion to stop him, but then again, Brooks and Goodman were Mustang's men. They wouldn't see any problem with his entering the Prime Minister's offices, even at a time like this. It was the blue, moving in and out of conference rooms and gathering in the far corner that he needed to worry about.

Two of the people in blue were friendlies, though, and he headed towards them. Any other time he might have made a quip about women and gossip, as Sheska and Hawkeye were both in close council with Challiel, but he knew from the tense atmosphere that it would be unappreciated. There were far too many highly decorated officers present, and more were visible in the open conference rooms, spattered with the black of parliament. One of the speakers in particular seemed interested in his presence, but either Hakuro hadn't expected him to be up and walking around yet or he hadn't mentioned it to anyone else.

So far, so good.

He approached Challiel's desk with a nod, and she gave him one in return. This got both the colonel and Sheska's attention, and both women turned. Neither seemed particularly alarmed by his presence, and he saluted the colonel.

She returned it coolly, as though nothing unusual had happened in the past eight or so hours. "At ease, lieutenant colonel. To what do we owe the visit?"

He shrugged with one shoulder, glancing around. "Just wondered if I could help," he said easily. "And if you'd heard from my wayward brother yet."

Hawkeye gave Sheska a meaningful look. "As you were, sergeant." Challiel had gone back to writing up a memo, and the colonel motioned for him to follow as she headed for her office. "You can help us by going home and getting some rest," she continued, slightly more loudly as they moved away from the Prime Minister's outer office. "Or the hospital, which is probably where you belong."

"Funny, you're the second person to say that tonight."

Hawkeye gave him a half-amused look as she took her seat, and gestured for him to have one as well. "You've looked better, Alphonse."

He sighed with a put-upon expression, and wondered if she was ignoring his request for information because she had some or because she had none. "I take it the Prime Minister is trapped in his office?"

She inclined her head. "Currently he's speaking privately with General Hakuro and the Speaker of the House regarding Sorn and Blane's involvement in the hostilities."

Doubtlessly Mustang would have to reveal to the Speaker why he was holding a civilian alchemist, and this wasn't news to Hakuro . . but why would that have precipitated knocking him out? Why would the Speaker want to talk to him? What could he say that Russ couldn't? "So the general's playing ball?"

Her expression was difficult to read. "For the present."

And that didn't really help. "What about Drachma?"

"Holding, as far as we can tell. Major General Armstrong left good men in command."

Al nodded again, and then she sighed, lightly. "Go home, Alphonse."

"You haven't mentioned Ed yet."

She didn't even blink. "We haven't received a report from him since the day before yesterday. He was in Dublith at the time."

Dublith was south, not west. Mustang had said he'd sent Edward out, along with other parties, to find likely places to transmute a Stone. If West was under attack, that put nii-san outside of the battle, unless of course something had possessed him to jump headlong into it- "And Franklin?"

She shook her head. "I'd hoped Russell Tringum would have seen to that shoulder by now."

"Nah. We were busy with Fletcher." He heard a general reduction in the amount of noise outside her office. "Though I suppose I could at least find some aspirin. It's killing me."

She leaned back in her chair, pulling open the top drawer of her desk and withdrawing a small bottle. Fingernail sized white capsules were evident through the glass, and she handed it to him rather than tossing it. "I keep them for the Prime Minister," she noted dryly. "I doubt they'll do him much good now."

No, if he was in a meeting with Hakuro and the Speaker, that was probably true. "Gee, thanks. Reject medication."

She raised an eyebrow. "I can take them back if you like."

"You can try if you'd like." He stood, waving the bottle at her as he turned. "I'll bring them back."

"No hurry, Alphonse. Get some rest. I'll call you when we have something concrete."

He had been right; the noise reduction had indeed signaled the end of Mustang's current meeting. While the door was open apparently they'd been speaking on the way, because the three were still in discussion, though both the Speaker of the House and Hakuro were on the outer office side of the door frame. Al moved towards the main hall, putting a colonel he didn't recognize between him and the party at the door, and he watched them.

It was clear Mustang was displeased about something; the set of his mouth was hard and he looked far more worn than he had even a few hours ago. He hadn't had the luxury of a nap and probably wouldn't until the situation with West was resolved one way or another. And if they still didn't have a lead on Franklin Sorn's whereabouts, giving the Speaker the truth without having the instigator in custody would probably not have been the most pleasant of conversations.

Still, the Speaker didn't look particularly distressed, nor particularly triumphant, so it wasn't as if they were about to impeach Mustang. And the general was his normal self, possibly with a puffed chest and more self-important expression in front of so many of his officers. He wasn't smirking, which Al had expected.

So what could have happened in that meeting that Hakuro would have gone to the trouble . . .?

The general turned quite suddenly, in response to something Mustang had said, and Al considered ducking more fully behind the colonel. He was unlikely to learn any more by staring at them, and Hawkeye had all but shoved him out the . . . door . . .

His hesitation cost him when the colonel in front of him moved to speak with another officer. The general's eyes just happened to move over the spot as he glanced back at the party, and of course he was the only person besides Challiel not in a military or parliament uniform. He was also the only other person in the room that seemed to need a shave, and oddly, he took a moment to wonder about the state of his hair.

The general took quite an obvious double-take, and this in turn pulled the Prime Minister's attention to him, as well as the Speaker's. He considered giving them all a nod, then it occurred to him that he should probably salute, but he did neither.

Hawkeye was more subtle, but she'd really done almost the same thing the general had. Tried to get rid of him. She'd pulled him into her office to get him away from the main room, and she'd said that she hadn't heard from nii-san directly since the day before yesterday. She'd also said she'd call when she had something concrete.

That could mean literally anything without really being a lie. Or he could be paranoid and it could mean nothing at all. Maybe nii-san was sitting at sensei's grave being sentimental and the general was just honestly concerned for his well-being.

Given his expression, though, he doubted that was the case.

He was probably going to get in trouble for not saluting.

Roy glanced at the general, who was staring at him in open surprise, and then he jerked his chin in a come-hither motion. Saluting or not, he knew better than to ignore a direct summons, and Alphonse, now feeling very much like he was in a spotlight, crossed the outer office.

"Lieutenant Colonel," the general greeted him, before Mustang could even get a word in edgewise. "I'm surprised to see you up and around. "

"Good evening, sirs. And thank you for the consideration, general. Dr. Murly was very helpful. I feel better already." He palmed the bottle of aspirin as inconspicuously as possible.

Hakuro had the good grace to appear chagrined, and Mustang's sharp eye flicked between the two of them. "Is there a problem?"

Something about the tone caught him as slightly off, and the warning bells started up all over again. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

His visible eye was guarded when he replied. "Nothing I believe you can assist me with at the moment."

Al nodded amicably, glad his left arm was in a sling so that he couldn't clench his fist at his side. "I see. In that case, I guess I should take the general's hint." Hakuro gave him a small frown, and Al turned more fully toward him. What the hell was going on, that Mustang and Hawkeye would be pushing him away at a time like this? Was he actually getting canned by Parliament?

"I expected you to have checked yourself into HQ hospital by now, Alphonse. Please consider it an order."

"Alphonse?" Oddly, it came from the Speaker. "Alphonse Elric?" Al spared the man a curious look. He was rather tall, taller than Mustang and probably aged exactly between the Prime Minister and the general. He seemed surprised himself, and then Al found his hand being shaken.

"The hero of the hour, one of the men that saved Jannai." His eyes were soft. "I think you've done enough for now, son, don't you?"

Momentarily nonplussed, Al couldn't really think of anything to say, and the man put a fatherly hand on his good shoulder. He said nothing else, just gave it a supportive squeeze, then nodded to the Prime Minister. "Mustang, General."

And then he was gone, but Al could still feel the weight of his hand.

. . . did he maybe know Fletch or Russ somehow? His confusion was evident because Mustang stepped back into his office with a soft "Please follow me." Hakuro's expression was set in stone, which was an indication he'd just done or started whatever the general had been trying to avoid . . .

"I answer to him before you," Al parroted back to words Russell had used to defer the last attempt to remove them from the cell downstairs, and the general gave him what could only be considered half a dirty look.

"You do," he agreed, and the warning bells clanged more loudly.

Despite them, Al proceeded into the Prime Minister's office, and Roy had barely taken ten steps before he turned abruptly and changed course from the desk to the more intimate chairs and sofa gathered around a table. "Please have a seat."

Al considered not accepting, and suddenly realized why the general's response had bothered him. Very rarely did Hakuro miss an opportunity to compare his behavior to his brother's.

Then it all clicked into place.

"Where is he?" he asked without moving. Mustang would know damn well who he was talking about.

"On the front lines," Hakuro responded without missing a beat, overriding whatever Mustang was going to say. "He created them, actually. He and Sorn are both missing, presumably together."

The front lines.

Mustang had sent him to the front lines.

Al would have closed his eyes, would have shaken his head, would have given any sign of his disbelief and disappointment, but suddenly he was far too tired. Of course. Mustang had sent him to find a place to transmute a circle, he'd found a likely spot near West, run across Sorn, and wherever Franklin was the army was. Obviously someone had stopped the kid, if there was an army alive to attack West, so they were assuming he and nii-san were laying low until they could get back to civilization.

Or they'd been captured by the enemy. Or they'd been killed by the enemy.

The weight of the Speaker's hand was still firm in his mind. "But no other 'concrete' reports, right?" Now Hawkeye made sense, too. But not the general-

"That's correct," the general confirmed briskly. "As soon as we have news, we will forward it to either your home or the HQ infirmary, whichever you'd prefer."

Al stared at him for a long moment, but when he spoke, it wasn't to the general. "This is the first time in memory you've let him speak for you."

Mustang had also not taken a seat, and his hands were tucked inside his pockets. Casual for anyone but the Flame Alchemist. Al couldn't see enough of him in his peripheral vision to judge his expression, but that was almost beside the point. Hakuro was easier to read, and he was unhappy with the entire process.

He was also not taking the opportunity to say anything derogatory about nii-san.

"It's not a habit I plan to continue," Roy finally replied, tone hard.

And then the general's expression fell. Not in disappointment of the chastisement. This was the look officers had in boring meetings when their failure to complete an administrative project was about to be laid out in excruciating detail. An expected irritation that would require someone to go through a series of pointless motions for reasons they believed were a complete waste of time.

Al read and dismissed the expression and the general, and turned back to Mustang. Roy still looked worn, and there was still the same tension in him that had been present in the bowels of the building. There was also something inflexible and angry, and Al couldn't tell if it was directed at him or the general.

Nor did he care. He probably wore the same look. "And what of the inconclusive reports?"

"Inconclusive reports are a waste of time until they are investigated more fully," the general tried, one more time.

And Mustang said nothing.

So much for not continuing the habit.

Al found it very difficult to ask the next question in a level voice. "When were you going to tell me?"

Mustang, to his credit, didn't flinch. "When we receive confirmation."

When. Not if.

He almost asked for more information. If the report was that they'd been captured, or that they'd been killed. Sorn's name was being bandied around freely, still, so if they really thought they were together-

They didn't. They'd received a report concerning just Edward himself. The general was going to presume they were together until his unconfirmed report was confirmed not because it made it better for Ed, but because it made it better for Parliament to believe there was still a chance Sorn was under some form of control.

Al wanted to grab his right shoulder and rub it until it bled, until the ghost of that squeeze wasn't on it anymore. Then it wouldn't be like everyone else had known before he had. Then it would be something he could worry and wonder about instead of knowing. Then it could be something he had to ask.

"Where is he."

"It doesn't matter," the general declared, in an entirely different tone of voice. It was a sharp reminder that Hakuro was indeed a general, and had worked himself up to that position through at least some amount of capable work, because Al was looking at him without meaning to in the slightest. "The trains are occupied carrying soldiers to reinforce our border cities. By the time you secured a car, and even assuming I allowed you passage through checkpoints, at least a day will have passed. Further information will be available long before then."

Meaning confirmation.

"Alphonse, don't make me place you in protective custody," the general continued, slightly more gently. "Check yourself into the hospital. I assure you, the moment we have information I will carry it to you myself if necessary."

Nii-san had gone to war. Even after leaving Germany behind, after everything –

And a State Alchemist in Creta's hands –

"What did the report say?" It was strained. If Ed was in hiding, he would find him. If he was captured, he'd take the enemy camp apart if he had to. If he was still alive –

"If it is confirmed I will relay it to you then," Roy replied, not unkindly. "The best option for you right now is to wait."

" . . . the best option?" A surge of anger pushed the pain in his shoulder to the background, and Al stared at him in open disbelief. "The best option, in your opinion, was to send my brother to war!"

"And you'd rather I sent you?" Mustang snapped in return, facing the famous Elric anger head-on. "And have Ed standing in this office right now?"

"At least he'd be standing!" What if he'd fallen on the field? Been left for dead? Or worse?

"Get a grip, Alphonse," he snarled. "This building wouldn't be standing. He knew what he was walking into, he's not a child-"

Al almost gaped at him. "He walked into it because you _asked_ him to!"

"He went because you're the only two people who fully understand what Sorn was trying to do! The only two that could have succeeded in stopping him!"

Al almost laughed. "One bullet would have stopped him, but the colonel's in her office, so I guess that didn't occur to you?"

Oddly, Roy's eye widened slightly. His voice was angry and flat when he replied. "Have you seen Lieutenant Colonel Havoc or Major Breda recently?"

Alphonse blinked, momentarily taken aback. He'd just been making the point, but now that he thought about it, it was nothing he'd ever suggest or condone unless there was no other choice. Killing Sorn could have been on Hakuro's list. But Mustang's . . ? "What, so Ed wouldn't have to play assassin along with his other roles?"

"That's enough," the general said sternly, stepping between them, and Al was startled to find they were only a few feet apart. "If the report's correct there's nothing to be done. If it's not, you could be scouring the entire west border looking for him. You need to wait."

So much for not knowing what was in the report.

An odd sort of calm seeped into his bones, bringing with it a violent awareness that he was tensing the injured shoulder, and Alphonse gave Hakuro a hard look. "Just long enough for the sedatives to wear off? Or do you intend to keep me under wraps until he's back in Central one way or the other?"

The general glared at him a moment, then heaved a large and deflating sigh. "I'm just trying to prevent you from making a mistake."

"It's too late for that, general sir," he muttered, and flicked his eyes to Mustang before turning his back on them both. "I apparently made it a long time ago." He was mostly to the door before he realized that he had no desire to follow his orders, either, but the shoulder was killing him, and he knew damn well that he needed to take care of it.

Particularly if a mission to Creta was in his immediate future. "Don't try to put me under again." Then he opened the door and walked out, letting it swing shut behind him.

Much as he hated to admit it, Hakuro was right. Waiting really was the best option, the most logical option. The option nii-san wouldn't take.

And yet somehow, his impetuous decisions always turned out right in the end.

The colonel was standing in her office doorway, her eyes searching him, and he tossed the bottle of aspirin in her direction. He didn't look to see if she'd caught it, and he didn't say a word. He simply walked out into the hall, and let his feet take him where they would.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I meant to tack on the rest of Mustang and Hakuro's conversation to this, but frankly, I'm kinda tired, and I wanna go to bed. ; ) But I hadn't given anyone any reactions, so here you have it. There are at least six versions of this scene, but this one seemed the most Al. Standard typo disclaimer - if you see them, please point them out! It really is wrapping up soon, I promise . . . the battle for West City will be won or lost by next chapter, and I swear to you that I will answer the question of Ed's fate in the same chapter. (They kind of go together.)


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

Alphonse was far too polite to slam the door, but the finality was there just the same.

Roy remained where he was, idly rubbing his thumb and middle fingertips together in his pocket. He used a light touch, feather-soft, just exploring the texture of the material as he had so often done in the past. Havoc said it was tactile addiction, the same reason he felt better with a cigarette in his mouth, lit or not. Whether or not Jean was right, he found himself doing it when he needed to keep calm, subconsciously reassuring himself that he did indeed posses the means to make the danger go away.

The general, for his part, clasped his hands behind his back. "That could have gone worse, I suppose."

Could have gone worse. Yes, that was definitely true. He modulated his tone, trying to add a trace of amusement to it, though he wasn't sure he succeeded. "What exactly did you do?"

The general's chin dropped fractionally. "Ordered Alphonse Elric and Russell Tringum be taken to the HQ hospital to have their injuries assessed. Obviously there was some creative interpretation by my staff."

That apparently had to do with giving Alphonse sedatives. Mustang smiled humorlessly. "I see. After everything he's been through, your people would have had to wake him up to accomplish this. And you did this to prevent him from making a mistake?"

Hakuro was watching him through his eyebrows. "All due respect, Minister, you've already wasted too much time playing with your alchemist friends. Getting Elric out of the way until we had something to actually tell him was a sound idea."

"Getting Elric out of the way," he repeated softly. "General, did it occur to you that I handle the Elrics the way I do for a reason?"

"Of course," the general replied. "Because you're far too close to your subordinates, just as you have been your entire military career. I've watched you for a decade now, Mustang, and you've yet to treat any subordinate like a soldier."

"A characteristic you're taking advantage of as we speak," Roy warned him, but the general only shook his head.

"If Alphonse had heard from an enlisted that Full Metal was on the front lines, do you truly believe he would behave any better than Russell Tringum? What do you think would happen to him when he tried to storm through security? And even assuming he did handle it appropriately, do you have any idea how much time you've spent on the subject of Fletcher Tringum since Patterson came here to kill you? And do you appreciate that he would have succeeded – been caught, but succeeded – if not for the boy?"

Mustang fought an inner battle with his anger. "I spent an appropriate amount of time-"

"All told it's been eight hours! Eight hours that your country has been at war, you've been in a part of the building few know exist, completely unreachable by any but your personal staff and a handful of my men-"

"Is this a criticism or an observation?"

Hakuro stared at him as if he'd suddenly turned mauve. "Don't be petulant."

"I only ask because you seem to think the country was without leadership during that time. The equivalent to a good night's sleep," he added.

The general snorted. "The position of Prime Minister was created exactly for this purpose, Mustang! Parliament was looking to you for military guidance-"

"And they had it," he interrupted quietly. "I left this country in the capable hands of my head general for eight hours." He cocked his head to the side as Hakuro mentally took a step back. "Or did you not recognize that as one of my subordinates you too had my trust?"

The general didn't miss the implication. "You must have already assumed I was going to make quite certain Fletcher Tringum was no longer a threat. Your unconditional acceptance that Alphonse Elric was capable of diagnosing something so ludicrous is borderline irresponsible."

Roy withdrew one of his hands from his pocket and waved it casually. "I'm not talking about trying to get Tringum and Elric away from Fletcher."

The general watched him for a moment, quite closely, before taking a careful breath. "I'm not aware of any indiscretions on my part," he said slowly, clearly weighing each word. "My staff, with the recent exception, has been responsive."

Mustang studied the pattern on the upholstered chair beside Hakuro. He spent more time standing around it than actually sitting in it. "Speaker Morian would say differently. In fact he did, just today."

Hakuro's eyes shifted to the right as he searched his memory. "Morian supports me, as I'm sure you're well aware. May I inquire as to the nature of the indiscretion?"

Mustang flicked his eye directly to the general's. "He seems to be aware of the Fullmetal rumor."

Hakuro looked neither surprised nor guilty, though Mustang wasn't expecting either. "If he knows it came from the Speaker." He unclasped his hands, rubbing his chin in thought. "Possibly he's a member of the inner cabinet. Not for his technical or political merit, of course, but because he is unafraid of opposing you."

Roy waited a long time, to see if his silence would encourage Hakuro to say more, but he seemed satisfied with his answer. No squirming. "Then I must admit to being highly disappointed with the Speaker." No one else had been in the room, after all, besides Hawkeye, Hakuro, the Speaker, and two transcribers. It was possible, he supposed, that they were to blame, though currently the papers were sealed. One of the transcribers was female. He made a mental note to ask Sheska to track down any record of work by that young lady for Morian.

"Though I shouldn't be surprised I was your first suspect," Hakuro murmured, finally with a trace of self-deprecation. "I doubt he would have done it though, to be frank. Are you certain Morian knows?"

When it came right down to it, no. "He stated the defeat of a well-known State Alchemist would hurt the military's reputation with our neighbors."

The general's eyebrows twitched. "That was direct," he muttered. "I can see why it would give you that impression."

Mustang put his hand back into his pocket, debating his next move. "Armstrong's next communication is coming to my office directly. Ensure that the secure line is fully secure."

The general gave a small nod.

"Alphonse Elric is off limits," he added bluntly. "I will continue to handle any issues with the State Alchemists personally."

The older man looked disapproving, but he said nothing, and Mustang consciously shrugged off the invisible weight pressing down on him. "Dismissed, general."

- x -

"They've arrived, sir."

She moved across the heavy marble floor smoothly, keeping footsteps to a minimum despite the hell that was the avenue. She knew as well as any other seasoned solider that the ear, on its whim, would ignore even deafening familiar sounds for newer, softer ones.

The last thing she wanted that party to hear was her walking up behind them. Literally.

What had six hours ago been a State bank was now a mess of marble and plaster and rubble. It had taken enough of an artillery hit that the back half of the building had collapsed entirely, but luckily the front was still intact. And facing a mostly intact Commerce Avenue, which had been chosen as the inroad for the Cretian officers.

It was difficult to call a victory if the high-ranking weren't among the group raising their flag over claimed soil.

And there was little doubt in the minds of the Cretians that they had won this fight.

West had taken some heavy damages, particularly the business district, which had been the westmost section. Trading ended when the sun went down, so the stock houses were as close to the horizon as possible. The only building still in relatively good shape was the military headquarters, though it too had taken its share of hits. Nearly all personnel that was still alive had poured through her gates, and now the well-defended wall was the only one left.

And the Cretian military, still picking through the city in search of lone skirmish or sniper teams, was a block out, surrounding her on all sides. Waiting.

Waiting for their general to ask for Amestrian surrender. Otherwise, the base would be overwhelmed.

And it would be overwhelmed. Even if every soldier that the enemy had seen entering was actually still behind those walls, they couldn't possibly hold against that many. The sun was gone, nothing but a burning orange slice against the dark grasslands, and the advantage of reflective gear was gone with it.

Three waves had crashed and ebbed, but the fourth had proved too much to strained resources and insufficient men. Amestris had fallen back, giving the city to the enemy, and soon they would be giving their headquarters and their lives.

At least, that was what she presumed they believed. It was certainly what she had engineered, and she would be very disappointed indeed if they saw through it.

Major General Olivier Armstrong watched through a gap in the granite as the convoy pulled cautiously into the avenue. Across the street, a sniper fired, and the lead jeep's hood popped off in an explosion of diesel and steam. The building face was peppered with fire, and she could not make out if her man managed to get to safety or not.

If not, he would be promoted two ranks posthumously. It had been a hell of a risk, and the shot was good. She was becoming rather impressed with these inept, slovenly men, though she would never tell them. Once fighting got underway they had not buckled when she'd expected, but instead rallied.

They didn't quite have the love for their rock that her men did, but they fought for her just the same. As an outsider on their Briggs, as it were, it was her responsibility to match their effort.

The convoy sent forth men to investigate, and she signaled, pulling back into the shadows. Two of the Cretians did indeed peer through the cracked door, but instead of searching they merely fired blindly into the space. When no fire was returned, they assumed the dwelling was empty and moved on.

Olivier watched them, brushing bits of marble from her jacket and waiting for the ringing in her ears to cease. Occasional chatter from their weapons confirmed they were doing the same up and down the avenue. It had been a long time since she'd been in a light uniform instead of a heavy coat, dealing with heat instead of cold so frigid it burned, and fighting on solid ground, with rock and sand and dirt and liquids that did not freeze mere moments after landing on the pavement.

She almost felt like an infantryman again.

Almost.

The convoy was already trying to move past the crippled lead vehicle, and with large pieces of debris on the right side of the road they had chosen to swerve left, toward the bank. She waited until more than half the vehicles had passed, and then she brought up her hand, bringing it down sharply as the second to last vehicle passed by her piece of cover.

And then a sixth of the men that the enemy had seen enter the West HQ parade grounds poured literally out of the woodwork. And the stonework. But most importantly, some of them were coming out of the storm grates, with heavy, round mines, and tucking them into the inner workings of the automobiles and armors that were parked so conveniently just over their heads. They could have changed the oil while they were at it.

The mines had been set on a fuse, and each commander had been forced to repeat the sequence back to her three times before she'd let them go. There was far too much going on in the avenue for her to tell if her orders had been followed, and frankly, if one of them fucked it up it wasn't really going to matter.

The avenue was awash in men spilling out of vehicles, and the grinding of the armor turrets sighting targets. She pulled out her pistol, taking aim only for the officers. She shot a colonel and two commanders before her position was overrun, and there was a bloodied face in front of her, waving a bayonet and screaming.

She put him down easily, and the one that came to take his place, nimbly dancing back on the rubble as her people withdrew as suddenly as they'd struck. Yet another Amestrian attack thwarted by sheer numbers of Cretians. A final, disorganized attempt to get to the general, ultimately fruitless.

She pulled back into the bank, taking aim at the nearest enemy intent on following. Despite the dim she'd been recognized as an officer, and the lead armor was bringing its turret to bear on the bank. Olivier ducked behind a large piece of granite, watching the edges chipped by bullets, and did the math quickly. The first mine should go off any second, but if they hit the face of the bank, it might very well trigger the rest of the collapse-

She counted the enemy rounds and popped up over her cover, and the enemy soldier fell with lead between his eyes. He cleared the way for her to witness explosions originating both from the top and bottom of the armor as it was able to get the shot off before the mine buried in its belly detonated.

The street was rocked with explosions, each of the mines going off at its precise moment, and after only two or three she couldn't hear them anymore. Couldn't hear anything. Debris and shrapnel were flying through the twilight air and she remained where she was, back to the granite, watching a finger of inky black crackling along the stone above her head. There was nowhere to go, the avenue was literally a minefield and there was no way to outrun the collapse. Her best bet was to stay in the corner and hope that the structure held.

Her men weren't that smart, and in the flashes of explosions she could see them trying to scurry into cover, even as the main section of roofing cracked fully and began its collapse.

How utterly disappointing.

A blinding flash of blue lit the bank, seeming to come from the center of the crumpled floor, and then she was buried with a breathtaking gust of air. The world shifted, indicating a massive explosion, but she was remarkably still alive when it ended.

The corner had held.

Complete darkness enveloped her, and Olivier waited a moment before shifting. Her hearing was no better than before and her body was quite numb, but her sense of sight and smell were still intact, and she caught diesel fumes and smoke cutting dimly through the dust.

So she was still near the surface, she was still getting fresh air.

A few blinks and careful turns of her head revealed a line of dim, and she used it to orient herself. Flickers of light occasionally flitted through, meaning it was facing the street and the burning convoy. Which meant it was the floor. She re-aligned her body with that in mind, put what she hoped were her feet against what she hoped was rubble, and began to push.

It was quite heavy, but the strip of light increased, and when she could see more fully the space she was in she re-adjusted. All she needed to do was shove the rubble to the side, roll it enough to pass by, not completely up-end it. Hopefully there was enough clear space from the explosions in the avenue that it could be done.

Her back protested, finally, giving her some idea of the effort she was exerting, and she strained harder, until it was effort to breathe. She couldn't hear the gasps, couldn't feel the sinew and tendon, but she could see the progress as light increased along the floor, and that was enough. Smoke tried to choke her, and coughing was a waste of effort, but slowly she worked the massive piece of stone to the side, and it completed its fall as soon as there was no chunk of corner foundation left to support it.

The wind of its collapse caused dust to puff around her, further choking her, but she welcomed the camouflage it granted. Both Cretian and Amestrian soldiers would be covered in dust, it would be difficult to make out one another and that could stay fire. Her people would do as she instructed them, head for Broad Street and get themselves back into West HQ via the insanely complicated storm drain structure that kept West from sitting underwater every time there was an unseasonably hard rain.

It was something the Cretians should have thought of, since their own eastmost cities likely had the same infrastructure. They'd probably thought there wouldn't be enough time or ingenuity on the Amestrian side to leverage the facility effectively. And they'd nearly been right.

Olivier squirmed out of the small gap she'd created, reaching back into the tiny open space for her service pistol and sword. In the fire-lit darkness she could see that she had all limbs intact, and even if she'd been hit with shrapnel in the explosions she had enough mobility to keep fighting. Her back was the only part of her body that she could feel, besides faint impacts of her boots against the ground, and she was really rather glad of it. Get as much leverage of that painlessness as possible.

All she really needed to do was confirm the general had been in the convoy. And that said general had been killed. She just needed to do it very, very quickly, before the mass of soldiers that had been surrounding HQ could be mobilized to check for the exact same thing.

Olivier visually checked the leather strap on the scabbard, which was on a snap to prevent it from being torn in cases like these, and she re-attached it to her belt automatically. Inspection of her pistol showed her an undamaged barrel and a lone bullet left in the clip.

That was fine. She only needed one. If she couldn't get to the jeep without being spotted or engaged, she'd scavenge another gun on the way.

A glance around what was left of the structure told her she had probably fared better than her men. A large stone pillar was still half-intact in the center of what had once been the lobby, but it had not been capable of stopping the collapse of the ceiling-

In fact, as far as she was aware, it hadn't been there before the collapse. The top was heavily damaged, only the base and about thirteen feet of it was still standing, but even then there was something quite familiar about the filigree-

Olivier fought between a smile and a frown as she turned her attention back to the avenue. Without the gift of hearing, it was going to be painfully easy to get killed.

Fires were still burning brightly, and she was pleased to see that the vehicles that had not been conveniently on top of storm drains during their halt had indeed largely been destroyed by the explosions of their counterparts. That was why it had been important that certain charges go off at certain times, to trap and damage the largest number of vehicles possible. The jeep that bore the Cretian flag, the one most likely to have been carrying the general, was such a vehicle. It had been flipped and was burning, and a trail of black led from the pavement to the crumpled roof.

Blood. That was a good sign.

She hastily scanned the scene, noting multiple shapes in dust and soot moving in the flickering shadows. None were immediately making for that jeep, and a flash showed that one of them was firing. Not at her, so she ignored him, darting between destroyed armors in a zig-zag pattern toward her target. Reinforcements would be here nearly instantly – the entire city would have seen the explosions.

And that was the point. The entire occupying Cretian army was now aware that the Amestrians had dealt a highly flashy blow to some target. They need only receive confirmation of what from their commanding officers before they were in a tight spot indeed.

If they decided to take West now, they'd have to hold it against the full might of Amestris without any idea of how to counterattack until another general could be smuggled across the border to them. Wired communications could be compromised, there were apt to be spies and militants in the city itself, and they'd proven over and over again in the fighting that they were very, very good at being where they were least expected and able to quickly move about the city.

Even if most of that flexibility lay in the fact that she had almost no men to speak of.

The commanders had a serious question to ask themselves, and she was hoping their hesitation would give them enough time to get reinforcements from South. If it was too late for reinforcing, with luck the city would be taken back by the end of the evening tomorrow.

It depended on how close on the heels of the first Cretian force a second was.

Olivier ducked behind a burning transport, ignoring the feebly moving shapes beneath the canopy. The transport had luckily been one of the trucks bombed, and the floor had exploded up into the men. They were in bad condition or worse, and not enough of a threat to speak of. Nor were any free enough of the twisted bed that she could steal a rifle. She used the torn, blackened passenger door as cover, though, eyeing the jeep again now that she was closer.

Two things grabbed her attention. The first was a shape in a green uniform, on her back, mostly extricated from the crumpled jeep. There was a gun in her hand.

The second was above the overturned wheel well, a flash of blue light and the silhouette of someone between her and it. Someone with their arms raised in front of them.

She didn't hesitate, raising the pistol and taking the shot. The figure crumpled, though she couldn't hear if he'd gotten off a shot of his own. Blue light was continuing to flicker, indicating that the alchemic fight was still ongoing regardless, and Olivier brought her eyes back to the target on the ground, the one with a gun leveled at her.

Oddly, the woman's hair-choked face seemed irritated, and then she tossed the pistol aside, yanking her legs free of the wreckage.

She was the enemy general, and clearly she'd taken her shot at the same time. Even with the faint roar of silence drowning out all sound, it was obvious the gun was damaged or that she'd missed.

Not that it mattered. She'd used her one bullet, and her gun was just as useless.

She tossed it aside as well, moving forward quickly as the other general climbed to her feet. A sword still hung on the Cretian general's hip, and after the quickest of glances she drew it. Olivier gave her a feral grin and did the same.

Armstrong family swords weren't ceremonial.

The first clash was always gentle, even as both of them put some weight behind it. Just feeling one another out. The Cretian general held, despite apparent dizziness, and she never said a word.

Probably couldn't hear either.

If they had been men, they'd have danced around one another, tried to shout, gesture, communicate, and compare the length and breadth of their genitalia. They didn't, and Olivier was glad to see that this woman was on the same page she was.

There was no time for that foolishness. From both their perspectives, the enemy general needed to be dead before the Certain reinforcements arrived.

The second clash was quite a bit stronger, testing done. Each had a firm, flexible grip, each had the strength to back it up. Each had found reasonably secure footing, and dizziness be damned, they were accurate in the extreme. Olivier dodged a swipe at her right shoulder as shallowly as she could, afraid to trust her back too much, and barely felt the tug as her tassels were sliced. She followed with her own upward strike, but the enemy general's footwork was impeccable, and she danced out of range.

The fight moved to the right side of the avenue, away from annoying debris that could inhibit free swinging, and began in earnest. Both seemed just on the outer range of the other, using their feet and position of shoulder to feign and parry. Olivier watched the enemy's sword closely, particularly the hilt. It was ornate, indicating that the tang of the blade could only go halfway through before ending in a delightful curling foil. And it was standing up to her own steel surprisingly well.

But physics was physics. Olivier leapt back at a viciously swift thrust directed at her face, watching as the blade moved silently through the air. Her ankle rolled on some loose asphalt but she recovered, landing on one knee and holding her blade over her head, edge up. Predictably, her enemy's eyes flashed with pleasure and she brought her sword down hard, a shattering blow that would break Olivier's weaker defensive position and cleave directly upon her left collarbone.

Only Olivier deftly changed the angle of her edge, and the Cretian general's ceremonial sword shattered into fragments on contact.

Olivier didn't waste time on gloating. She swung her intact blade over her head as she took her feet, and even then she barely had the momentum necessary to complete the move. There were slight articulations to the roar, now, and she scanned the avenue quickly, crouching back down at the sight of soot men on approach.

Dammit. This was the reason Alex should have stayed where he was, under the street, instead of giving himself away trying to catch the damn bank ceiling-

And probably saving her life. Of course, he was oblivious of her returning the favor, though the alchemic activity near the front of the convoy had ceased. It was impossible to tell if he had won or lost, and unfortunately, it was in the direction of the approaching men.

Olivier wiped her sword quickly on her jacket, sheathing it and grabbing what she had come for before straightening just enough to locate a downed soldier. The one she'd shot, the driver of the jeep, had fallen where he'd stood, and his gun was within reach. A quick check revealed nearly a full clip, and she brought it to bear as movement flickered in her peripheral vision.

Dirty, brown, huge-

She barely stayed her instinct, and while she could see him talking, she couldn't make out the words. Angrily she gestured at him to get down, pointing to her ears, and he answered with a grim look. He turned obediently, the chords on his filthy neck standing out prominently as he brought his fist to the street. It shook as energy coursed down the avenue toward the approaching soldiers, and she imagined there was quite a loud noise accompanying it.

She caught a whisper of it, and swallowed hard in an effort to pop her ears.

"Have the men escaped?"

She bellowed it, though she could barely hear her own voice, and her brother simply gave her a nod, bringing his fist to the ground again as the alley to their right erupted with shadows. They were going to have to run and hope the darkness covered their escape into a storm drain or hiding place in the rubble.

Olivier grabbed Alex's arm with her free hand, pulling him aside as some type of projectile went by, and then realized her mistake. A grenade. He was turning so she dashed for it, dropping her prize to snatch it up and lob it from whence it came. It exploded in midair, and she was knocked a step back either by the blast or shrapnel. A sudden mound of human was wrapped around her, and she barely was able to grab her token before she was bodily carried down the avenue.

"Put me down, you idiot-" She coughed at the smoke and the rough handling, and her sense of smell and taste provided her the sharp tang of copper.

Shrapnel, then. Damn.

Olivier was unable to see much from her position, a reluctant bride in the arms of an ogre groom, and after several rather impressive leaps they were over an alley wall and at least out of direct line of sight. The articulations were quite a bit stronger, so that she was able to hear gunshots mutedly, and Alex finally stopped his rocking-horse run, crouching behind a large dumpster.

He set her down very gently and she slapped his hands away with a growl, glancing down at herself. In the dark it was too difficult to see, and she unabashedly unfastened the uniform jacket. The shirt beneath was indeed stained with blood, more than she would have liked but less than a gunshot. Obviously at least some of the metal had penetrated her ribcage, but the urge to cough was controllable, and she wasn't dizzy. It was becoming more effort to breathe, but neither of her lungs had collapsed yet.

The left one would if she ran, though. She was sure of that.

Damn. He couldn't carry her and defend himself at the same time. She could probably hide in the dumpster if it came to it. "Take this and go," she grumbled, as loudly as she dared, and she shoved her cargo at her brother.

He didn't blanch, which she'd rather expected, but he didn't accept it either. His voice was too low to hear, but the words 'will not' seemed to cross his lips, and she bared her teeth.

"That's an ord-"

And he covered her mouth with his hand.

For a split second she considered biting him for being a sentimental jackass, but again, he wouldn't feel it and she didn't want a mouthful of dirt and debris. His head had turned to his left, and she looked right – he allowed it, and even removed his hand when he saw she wasn't fighting.

He'd heard something.

Headlights flew by the alley, an open-aired jeep containing at least two men. In the dark it was hard to tell uniform color, and she was going to insist he leave again when she saw red reflected on the windows of the shop across the street.

Brakelights.

Alex moved away from her, in a crouch, preparing another attack, and the jeep hurtled back into view with a muffled screech, swinging its headlights in their direction.

So much for remaining hidden.

She'd lost the gun at some point, probably diving for the grenade, or even when she threw it. Her fingers were working but still mostly numb, and she knew her sword would be no good. The token would probably get her nothing, but she held it up just the same, and Alex didn't attack.

A second passed. Two. A shadow crossed the headlights, and she was able to tell at once that she was not dealing with one of their men. The cut of the uniform was all wrong, though the paunch of the soldier was about right. Curiously, Alex actually stood, and a moment later he was offering her a hand. The words were still muddled.

The meaning, however, was clear. They were to go with these men.

She doubted he'd have surrendered without a fight, so she remained staunchly where she was, until the enemy soldier moved out of the blinding headlights and she could make out his face.

He seemed vaguely familiar, and he reached into his shirt, fishing out his dog tags before offering them to her. They were of Amestrian cut.

"-shell-shocked," her brother boomed, and she glared at him. Giving away their position to the enemy at a time like this. She wasted no time, though, in getting to the jeep, and she resisted the urge to cough as she was crowded into the back seat. The Amestrian soldier, wearing a Cretian uniform, had to be either Major Heymans Breda or Lieutenant Colonel Havoc. Again, he offered her the tags, but she just shook his head, and he gave a nod of understanding.

These men were the two Mustang had sent to back up Elric. Her suspicions were confirmed when she found a teenager stuffed on the floor of the jeep, tucked between the back of the driver's seat and the back bench. She didn't kick him, which was her instinct, but she didn't go out of her way to give him room, either, and the jeep hurtled into the night.

"Head to Broad Street," she ordered the soldier driving, and he shook his head. She glared at the one beside her until he listened to what the driver was saying and relayed it. Now it was safe to shout, and she could hear him clearly.

"Broad's been overrun! We just came from there thinkin' the activity was you. Saw the alchemy, then, and we've been driving up and down hoping to get lucky!"

Damn. If Broad was overrun, it meant retreat for the men had been cut off. She took a considering breath, regretted it, and swallowed back the blood in her throat. The secondary location had always been Shute.

"Take Shute Lane east until you hit the warehouse district."

The driver gave a very obvious nod, and she glared down at the teen at her feet, who was staring at her. It was too dark to make out his expression, but not the object of his interest, and she shifted her token so less blood would run out of it. The blood was useful, and she'd rather not have to use anyone else's to get the same effect.

The jeep sped through the night, dodging rubble, and she considered taking off her jacket. It would reveal her injuries to these soldiers, but she was currently the only obvious Amestrian soldier in the jeep. They might actually be able to pass enemy checkpoints claiming she was a prisoner, though she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The head of their general and the teenager crouched on the floorboards might make it a bit harder to explain.

The urge to cough returned, and this time she relented, hacking into her elbow to hide the blood as much as possible. She didn't want to panic Mustang's men, and she needed to be the one to place the general's head in view of the enemy. Alex could be ordered to be discreet-

Quite abruptly she realized that everything was completely wrong, and her eyes flew open before she could stop herself.

She was on her right side, a thin pillow wedged beneath her head, staring at a rather startled man in a white mask. And she felt like death warmed over.

Olivier glared at him flatly for a moment, and he moved to pull off the mask. His hands were filmed with blood, and there was a suture needle and thread held between his second and third finger.

"Major General, sir, forgive me for not saluting," Staff Sergeant and also Doctor Pithe murmured. At least, she thought it was soft. She could hear other things, too, cries and moans and hushed voices. It sounded like-

It sounded like the infirmary after a battle. It clearly was West's, meaning the battle was done.

Meaning either the enemy was holding outside the walls, or they had fallen back.

"I'm nearly done. Let me just get you a little anesthetic-"

She glanced down, surprised to find herself naked from the waist up. There were three small wounds, one just between her breasts, one high on her left, and one just beneath her sternum. Probably the one that was causing the trouble, and currently the injury he was stitching. It was, unfortunately, no longer numb, but what surprised her the most was the fact that she wasn't freezing to death.

Once again, she had to remind herself that she wasn't at Briggs.

Her back was to the room proper, as she could only see one other patient over Pithe's head, and a sheet was draped over her shoulders and back. Alex, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.

He only had two stitches to go, so she laid her head back on the pillow and gave him a flat glare. "Finish. And do your best to minimize scarring."

He inclined his head, slipping the mask back on. "Yessir."

They stung, as being stabbed with a needle was wont to do, but she bore it, distracting herself by staring over the toiling doctor's shoulder. What she had assumed was a patient was actually probably not anymore. There was only a thin sheet covering him, to his shoulders, and his head bore a stained wrapping. There was an IV pole beside him, though she couldn't tell if it was connected. But there was no other equipment nearby. No respirator. No heart monitor.

A lone figure in half a Cretian uniform was sitting in a chair beside the body, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gaze unfocused. She recognized the windblown hair as her driver.

"When did he finish dying?"

The doctor's speckled brown eyes found hers as he tied off the last suture. "He hasn't yet, unless he just did." There was an odd pulling sensation, and then she heard scissors. "I'll have the colonel summoned, if you're certain you feel up to speaking with him, sir?"

She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, swallowing back the sudden urge to vomit in the man's face. "Summon the brigadier general." He outranked Mazo anyway, and there was no way she was going to let any officer see her like this.

Until that promotion, she wasn't going to consider Alex an officer. He was a family member who had disobeyed a direct order and she was going to kill him.

The doctor nodded, wiping his hands quickly on a faded but clean towel, and then folded the corner of the sheet over her chest and stomach. She'd rather not be seen in such a vulnerable condition but as she'd apparently passed out in the jeep there was nothing to be done about it now. It wasn't like the oaf didn't already know. And given the way she felt, she knew better than to try to shrug this off, at least for now. What she needed was data and enemy positions, and she didn't need her stripes to analyze it. Much as she'd prefer them.

It seemed the material had hardly had a chance to warm against her skin before a shadow crossed the lights behind her, and she closed her eyes in irritation as her brother's beefy silhouette came into view. If he was crying, so help her, nausea or not she was going to get up and hang him by his entrails from the wall beside her enemy's head.

He surprised her by turning on his heels to face her and saluting. He was also, wonder of wonders, in clothes. The mud of battle had been washed from his face and hands, though remnants still existed beneath his fingernails, and the ridiculous curl on the top of his head was back to its usual spring. If he was injured it wasn't obvious.

"Reporting as ordered, major general sir."

She regarded him a moment, then swallowed moisture back into her throat. "Report."

He did not drop out of attention. "Cretian forces have regrouped at the city's western edge and are currently holding, Major General sir."

Regrouped meant they would have scattered, and she didn't recall anything that would have caused that. "Was an attack launched without my authorization?"

A slight grimace. "Yes sir."

And of course, chain of command dictated that her brother take that role. She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You tried to steal my victory?"

"No, major general. I regret to report that I lost my temper."

. . . lost his temper? She gave him a strange look, and was even more surprised that he didn't drop from attention, even then. "Explain yourself. Now."

His eyes faltered slightly. "Lieutenant Colonel Havoc was able to get us to the secondary rendezvous point, but unfortunately many of the men in the final attack were captured or killed by the enemy. I interpreted the major general's motives and displayed the enemy general's desecrated body to the enemy at large, but the response of the enemy was unacceptable. I apologize for my actions and accept any discipline the major general sees fit, sir."

Trust him not to say anything plainly. "What did you do?" she growled, as loudly as her aching head would allow.

He grimaced. "I accepted the challenge of the enemy's armor division."

Olivier stared at him. She had kept him in reserve, true, needing him to remain with the party beneath the streets to ensure their success, but he had performed a great deal of alchemy to widen the flood paths and prepare mirrors from sand. Taking down an entire armor division was -

Was something their grandfather would have done.

"How many men were lost for your pride?"

"Fifty-seven at last count."

Not as costly as she feared. "How many did you risk?"

He hesitated. "I'm not certain, sir!"

She raised an eyebrow. "How many did you order into battle."

"None." He finally dropped attention, not moving to parade rest but drooping his shoulders, spine, and even his hair. "I ordered them to remain where they were, but I was unable to keep them in line."

She digested that. They followed him into battle against explicit orders. "What prompted this uprising?"

He sighed. "Propaganda that the Amestrian general was killed alongside the Cretian one."

"Which you knew was untrue."

"I cannot stand such dishonorable tactics," he growled, some of the fire returning to his tone. "The successful attack caused most of the infantry to flee, and their commanders made it official to appear still in control of their army."

After watching one alchemist bearing the head of their general and a hoard of angry, unorganized soldiers destroying the armor division, she wasn't surprised.

He had fought for her honor. In a way, it was as ridiculously old-fashioned as it sounded. She was fine, save a small surgery. Had he truly been so concerned-

"When will reinforcements from South arrive?"

"Within the hour, sir." He straightened into parade rest. "No formal communication has been made to Central yet, on the recommendation of Staff Sergeant Pithe."

Letting her have the victory. She glared openly at her brother. "And what information has been given to the men?"

He straightened back to attention. "That the major general sustained light injuries and would be joining them on the field when she was cleared by the staff sergeant."

So the men might have even believed the Cretians, that she had been killed. Considering how she'd tortured them over these twenty-four hours, she was surprised. However, she only allowed disapproval to show. "Have a phone with a secure line brought to me immediately. Parliament and the military need to be apprised."

He saluted sharply and left, and she took a few experimental breaths. Her left side hurt a great deal when she did, so she knew her lung had been hit, but the need to cough was fairly easy to contain, and she forced herself into a sitting position, dragging the sheet with her.

"Please, major general, not so fast-"

She closed her eyes more in annoyance than as a reaction to the pain in her head. "My uniform, staff sergeant."

She left her eyes closed until she heard the sound of fabric, and snapped them open to find the doctor offering her a basic uniform undershirt and a jacket onto which her stripes had been hastily transferred. It was better than nothing, and she let the sheet fall as she pulled the shirt - slowly - over her head.

"I took the liberty of changing your other dressing. That wound is healing very nicely, and I could not match the skill of the sutures."

She only frowned at the news. Patterson had done a good job on her side, the bullet that had grazed her during the attack on Mustang, but scars on her breasts . . . she was nearly unfit for marriage. Hopefully the solider that had thrown the grenade had suffered worse. "What about Elric?"

The doctor sighed, averting his eyes politely as she adjusted the shirt. No bra, she wasn't even in uniform.

"His condition is much the same, though I have a better idea of what he went through physically."

He said nothing more, and she pulled on the borrowed jacket - again, slowly. The dizziness was getting worse. "And?"

"The odd lesions on his legs and hands, aside from the obvious chemical burns, were actually caused by electricity," the doctor murmured, glancing around her at a suddenly sharp cry from one of the injured. "The injuries to his wrists were indeed from his bindings. And as I said before, leaving the bullet wound untreated all that time caused a significant loss of blood and fluid around the brain. Coupled with the strain his heart must have suffered, it explains his unresponsiveness to treatment and deterioration even after arriving here."

She glanced around the doctor again. It didn't even look like the alchemist was breathing. "If his condition is worsened, why is he not receiving further treatment?"

The staff sergeant spread his hands. "I'm afraid there's not much more I can do for him. Outside of replacing lost fluids, it's up to him. The bullet exposed his skull but only cracked it in one place, and that's kept the swelling in his brain down. But I've seen other soldiers in this condition, major general. Once he decides to stop breathing, nothing's gonna change his mind. Putting him on a respirator is just delaying the inevitable."

She considered that information even as her brother returned, giving the patient in the far bed a sad look before saluting her. "The line will be transferred to the doctor's extension. I will assist you there."

"That's unnecessary, brigadier general. I can walk." Possibly. "What of the suspect?"

The doctor cocked his head to the side, but her brother answered her. "The Mechanical Alchemist has been bound and is currently being held in the brig."

"See that he remains there." She took another breath, then eased herself off the hard bed. "I assume the two soldiers are Mustang's advance force?"

Alex nodded solemnly, moving so that catching her would be easy, but not reaching out. "They are loyal friends of mine and excellent soldiers."

"They disobeyed orders as well," she growled, "and I would like their excuse so I may pass it along."

Alex seemed to hesitate as they made their slow, regal way towards the doctor's office. "They were concerned for Full Metal," he said quietly. "According to the major, Lieutenant Colonel Havoc took an opportunity to join the enemy execution squad. He fired the shot that crippled Edward Elric."

An odd revelation. Perhaps being unable to rescue the alchemist, he had been left with the option of killing him with a friendly bullet, or at the least an instantly fatal one. The shot had clipped the young alchemist quite badly, though if he'd been put in front of a firing squad she assumed the lieutenant colonel would have had to fire first and thus had the shortest amount of time to prepare and aim. Maybe he'd intended the shot to look messy without doing as much damage as it had done. "Is he safe to leave with Elric?"

They crossed the doorjamb and she settled herself slowly into the doctor's chair, picking up the receiver as her brother nodded. She finally looked at him, surprised to find his eyes dry and serious.

"Edward Elric could not be safer."

- x -

**Author's Notes:** It's really hard to write a chapter with a cat on your left arm. ; ) So there you have it! Edward is alive and . . . uh, alive. For now. Sorn is safely in custody, and West is about to receive reinforcements. But it's not over yet - in fact, the tear-jerking-est scenes in this story have yet to be written. I expect one of them will be next chapter. Just because the battle is over doesn't mean the story is . . .

Standard typo disclaimer applies. The wonderful Silverfox2702 found a plot-changing typo last chapter, thank you for pointing that out! And everyone that's PM'ed me or submitted a review concerning this fic - please don't be offended if I have not answered you! I don't as a rule, somehow I feel like that's intruding or fishing for comments or something. I know. I'm weird. I read everything you guys say, try to apply criticisms, grin when you seem to be enjoying yourselves, and otherwise am having a blast. So thank you all, and if you specifically would like a reply, let me know and I'd be happy to chat with you!


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning: **Very, very mild tearjerk warning.

- x -

She draped the afghan around him as softly as possible, and he woke about thirty minutes later.

Winry Rockbell didn't budge from her spot, smoothing his hair from his face as he stirred. She'd all but eliminated the tear tracks, avoiding the scruff of his cheeks for fear of waking him. He looked as if he hadn't shaved in almost a week, and his facial hair had always been slightly darker than the blond on his head, making him look older but also hiding the salt.

She wondered yet again how long he'd been there, slumped against the wall by the door, on the cold floor in nothing more than scrubs. His left arm was bound tightly in a sling, his right forearm still bandaged, and by the time she'd woken and followed granny's heavy-hearted gaze to the wall, he'd been shivering.

Pinako had been more than happy to give up the afghan, but it seemed as soon as he was comfortable he knew something was wrong, and had been on his way to waking ever since. His golden brown eyes opened laboriously, and then Alphonse took a quick, deep breath.

He didn't draw back, though, as she continued smoothing his hair. He rarely wore it completely down, and given the way it looked he'd let it dry without even brushing it. He smelled clean, though, and she expected the nurses here had probably had something to do with that, as well as the scrubs. They wouldn't have let a filthy and travelworn patient sit on the cold floor in so little, but clearly they hadn't let him stick around without checking himself in.

"Hey," she said softly, and then Al's eyes began to fill.

"Hey," he replied hoarsely, leaning into her hand. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"We noticed," Pinako's voice drifted from the bed, clearly more amused than admonishing. "I haven't seen you sleeping on the floor since you were a boy." She didn't add 'in armor,' though it had been Winry's first thought, seeing him sprawled out like that. He used to sit that way all the time when he wanted to be near someone but thought it was an intrusion. If he stood the whole time they all got bothered that he wasn't comfortable, and he'd been so young besides that he'd still been accustomed to sitting on the floor - closest and easiest surface.

They hadn't really understood at the time, but no matter how he slouched he wasn't comfortable.

He had the same look now as he'd had then, or as much as the armor could express, closing his eyes as she ran her thumb over his eyelashes. She didn't press hard. No need to rub in the fact that he looked as if he wanted to weep all over again.

She did too.

He made no move to pull his head away from her shoulder, letting himself be cuddled, and she sighed softly, not stopping the attention. He was and always had been far better than his brother about allowing physical comfort, and though he hadn't really needed any since he'd returned from that other world, he certainly looked like he did now.

"I see you're a patient again. Anything else you've broken?"

His lips twitched. "Nurses wouldn't let me visit until I cleaned up."

"Good," Pinako murmured. "I'd hate to have to give you a bath at this age, Alphonse."

She and Al both chuckled, and he apologetically lifted his head away from her shoulders. "I guess I should go to my own room, since it looks like I'm stealing your blankets."

"Stay a while." Pinako's voice was knowing. "It's nice to have visitors."

Winry left her arm around him, elbow balanced between the wall and the top of his back, playing idly with his hair. It was quite a bit thicker than hers, each strand, and every once in a while she had an urge to tug on it. Currently it was full of knots and she was attempting to free them without hurting him, but his back was tense again now that he was awake and she wasn't sure how much success she was having.

"Want to talk?" she asked simply.

He stared at nothing for a long time, then shook his head slightly. "Nothing to say," he managed around what sounded like a sticky throat.

Winry just nodded, and Pinako sighed. "We've already had this conversation, Alphonse."

Another lip twitch, that finally burst into a small smile. "I'll convince you yet."

The woman harrumphed.

He sat up a little straighter, as if something had just occurred to him, and she shifted with him so that she was still some type of support.

"Actually, there's news on that front."

"On what front?" She was pretty sure she'd missed something between granny and Al, possibly getting her back to Resembool? Because Pinako was probably right - Al wasn't going to have much more success than she had. She was certain granny would prefer to be home, but the pain and hassle of the transport, and getting her to the house once in town . . . it would be a parade. A parade she wouldn't be comfortable being the center of. At first it had been the plan, until Ackernath had pointed out the obvious. Now there was no dissuading the woman.

However, Al had something far better. "Fletcher Tringum is alive. He's fine. Well, not fine," he amended. "But he will be."

Winry leaned back so she could take more of him in. A flash of happiness was in his eyes, echoing her own heart. "That's-that's wonderful! But how?" Surely-

Oh no.

She pulled away from him as if burned, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "What did you do." And what had he given up? Had he and Ed-?

He cowered, though it was playful, and a sudden knot of worry in her lungs loosened - slightly. "The body we found, it was a doll. Created alchemically by Franklin Sorn. The real Fletcher has been alive this whole time, in hiding."

Pinako was watching him quite closely, though Winry could see he was largely oblivious. "In hiding? From whom?"

His eyes darkened. "I don't know if I'm allowed to say just yet," he mumbled. "From the man that tried to kill him."

. . . tried to kill him? Someone had actually tried to murder Fletcher Tringum? Winry curled her legs beneath her, itching for something metallic to put in her fists. "But you know who?"

He nodded. "Yeah. We know who." It was very soft.

"And are they still alive?" Because god help her, if she ever ran into this man he wouldn't be when she was done with him. Killing Fletcher Tringum! That was insane! There wasn't a better disposed, nicer human being in Amestris! He was a sweetheart, unlike his brother, who was a bit pompous and a bit arrogant and reminded her just a smidge of Edward in that regard.

How Russell must be feeling right now . . . "Russ knows, right?"

"Yeah. He's with him right now." Then his eyes darkened again, though he added nothing else. Quickly the happiness in him was fading back into that hurt look, and she hesitated, glancing at granny.

Pinako was staring at the ceiling, her examination clearly done, and Winry half-glared. How did she always manage to read people so darn quickly?

"Wait, if Sorn . . . the kid, right?" She waited for affirmation before she continued. "If he created the . . . the doll, does that mean . . . he . . .?"

Al shook his head. "No. He provided the means for Fletcher to get out of there without anyone being the wiser."

But why wouldn't Fletcher have - Winry mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Probably because Fletcher didn't want to endanger his brother, that's why. Like another pair of brothers she knew well. And given his look, his obvious desire to be with people, and the lack of Edward, she didn't need to ask to know that something was up between Al and Ed. Or that Al was worried about Ed.

"I'm glad. Is he here? Can I visit him?"

Al shook his head again. "He's being kept for observation . . . somewhere else," he finished lamely. "But I'll let him know that you asked about him."

"Please do." She paused. "You know, you disappeared for a couple days too."

He nodded after a moment, burrowing slightly beneath the afghan. He said nothing.

Well, then that clearly had something to do with it. "In that case, I have some news for you."

Al feigned interest, and she patted his cheek fondly in reward for the effort. "You know the doctor you and Ed had sent down to see to Granny?"

He nodded, while Pinako snorted from the bed. "Turns out he's my grandfather reincarna-"

There was a polite knock at the door, which Winry largely ignored. The nurses never waited for you to say it was okay or not okay to come in, so there wasn't much point. And the door predictably opened, showing black hair and blue uniform instead of Sadie or Bonita.

Maria Ross smiled in honest pleasure and gave a little wave as she poked her head in, and when she spotted Al she fully entered the room, came to attention, and saluted.

"Good evening, sir! I have a message from the Prime Minister, sir."

Al had become tense and rigid the moment he'd recognized the woman, and his expression softened slightly as he apparently thought something through. Then he slowly uncurled himself from the afghan, using his right arm to drape it over her bare legs. "I'll be right back if I can," he promised, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing tightly before he took his feet. He gave Lt. Ross a nod and she dropped to parade rest, then walked over and gave Pinako a very gentle hug. "Sorry I woke you up."

"You're such a stupid boy sometimes," she said warmly, patting his good shoulder. "Sleep in a bed."

Then Al was himself again, dry-eyed business oriented Al, and he almost marched out of the room. Lt. Ross nodded to them both and closed the door. Winry remained on the floor, listening to their footsteps, but of course Alphonse wasn't in the orthopedics wing, so she couldn't determine which room was his.

No matter. She'd go find him in ten minutes, and if he needed it, she'd stay with him for a while.

Pinako glanced at the door again before frowning, but she didn't offer a reason, and as Winry climbed off the floor, she realized why. What it could mean when a single uniformed solider came to give a 'message' to a worried family. She said nothing either, curling back up in her chair with the afghan clutched to her chest.

- x -

"Let's not assume anything just yet."

"Realistically I think we're going to have to-"

"Just a moment." He made eye contact with each of them to ensure they realized he wasn't displeased, and he inclined his head to the room at large. "The issue, gentlemen, is whether we pursue the Cretians to the border or over the border. It's a significant distinction to the military, because our actions to this point have been defensive only. The moment we invade, we declare that we intent to take something from this conflict." His voice was steady and cool. "The State military presence in West is now sufficient to prevent the city from being taken by a second force. Laying siege to Suveine, the east-most major Cretian city, is the question on the table for this Parliament."

A formal conference table had been dragged into the center of the Parliament House, and Mustang sat at its head, surrounded by generals of varying flavors. The Speaker sat the other head, leaving his deputy to wrangle the House itself, and staff flitted in and out with constant updates.

The process, though undocumented and certainly not policy, was working quite well. It put a large number of military officers in close proximity to a large number of politicians, normally a terrible idea, but they were all working toward a common goal. Loudly and a bit rambunctiously, but overall he was rather pleased. The idea of large-scale collaboration was inappropriate for most venues, but this particular issue needed to be decided by the representatives of the people rather than the State military.

It was also a test. As General Hakuro had said, the position of Prime Minister had been created for this exact scenario. It was time to see if the reorganization of government had been effective or needed to be reconfigured.

He was quite certain they had never meant for him to go about it like this, though. He rather suspected that, in times of war, Parliament had wanted more of a scapegoat than they were getting. He'd pushed the issue - and responsibility - back to them without sacrificing swift response.

In all likelihood, this was moot, because the major general, if she was angry enough, would probably ignore Central and do as she pleased. Parliament had been quite divided over the idea that she had beheaded the enemy general and hung the woman's head from the West HQ walls on a chain. Some regarded it as the same barbarous behavior they'd tried to eliminate after Bradley's reign, others praised her ingenuity in doing whatever was necessary to protect the city.

As far as he was concerned, it was simply a victory, and the means well within the acceptable customs of war. The Cretians had pulled back a mile from the city when she'd sent a force to confront them, and once on the move it was easier to keep them that way. But there would absolutely have been a second force at least half-organized on the Cretian front in case of victory, and that force was likely to be in Suveine. Even with Central's reinforcements only an hour out and South's already arrived, he wasn't certain she had the men to successfully take the city. And it seemed his generals agreed.

"We can't ignore the fact that we could be dealing with twenty thousand or more troops-"

"And where are you getting those numbers?"

" How do you know the second force wouldn't simply be a militia to keep civil order in West as the first force moved on?"

"Mustang," the Speaker said suddenly, and the table quieted. "You're being too quiet over there. What are you thinking?"

He leaned back in his chair contemplatively, taking time specifically to ease the sense of urgency in the air around him. They did need to decide, and soon, but there was no need to rush. "Speaker Nack is correct - this government released a statement when I took the oath of office that spilled blood would not be tolerated."

And even though the Cretian declaration of war even now was alive and on a train bound for Central, whether the war had started a few hours earlier or later was beside the point. At least one Amestrian soldier had been killed. They would probably actually never identify the true first bullet, the true beginning of this conflict, but blood had been spilled nonetheless.

"And it wasn't tolerated," he concluded. "Armstrong inflicted heavy losses and took our enemy's top general as payment." Many would not consider this a fair trade, so he smiled grimly. "Whether or not we bicker over Suveine is irrelevant, as far as I'm concerned. In the end, by the time the politicians are finished with one another, we'd probably end up giving the city back. My generals agree that it would be too difficult to protect one little finger in another nation's territory, and we'd quickly lose the city if the Cretians are determined enough to get her back."

And he was fairly certain they could all agree taking and then losing the Cretian city would undo all the good their victory in West had achieved.

"I know that smile," the Speaker muttered, over the buzz in the room. "What do you intend instead?"

"Unless Parliament votes against it, I was planning to wait for the Cretian diplomats to arrive, and give them an ultimatum. Full and unconditional surrender to Amestris, or be defeated and annexed."

This announcement was met with a roar from both his military and Parliament, and he gave an exaggerated look around before settling back into his chair and letting the deputy Speaker try to regain order. General Hakuro was straightening the papers in front of him, not joining in the protest of the other generals, and Roy wondered how much of that was show and how much he'd already guessed.

"All due respect, Minister, I don't think we can pull that off," he finally said, when the initial reaction died back. "Drachma is still holding per your agreement with his Eminence Shurik Tolya, but I am not comfortable putting that new relationship under duress. Creta is hardly crippled, and will expect retaliation."

"Creta's military was turned back by less than a quarter of their force," one of the speakers called from the floor. "Why can those results not be used to our favor?"

"I won't label our victory in West luck," Hakuro spoke again, considering his words carefully. "Major General Olivier Armstrong demonstrated ingenuity and employed the appropriate tactics exactly as she was trained to do. However, despite fewer men she had many advantages, the most powerful of which was that she was playing on the home field. The simple fact is that we don't know their land as well as they do. We cannot count on these results when waging an offensive war."

It was well-explained, and Roy saw no need to add or liaise. Parliament deliberated for a moment, but it was a major general who broached the question.

"We did employ a State Alchemist to great effect."

Hakuro glanced at him, but Roy didn't indicate he wanted to field the comment, and the general turned back to the table. "Brigadier General Armstrong was deployed in an officer capacity, not functioning specifically as a National Alchemist. The use of alchemists in battle is at the sole discretion of the Prime Minister."

Mustang almost laughed outright at the general's blatant move, but he sat up a little straighter and prepared to answer anyway.

"Who if I remember correctly stated that they would no longer be deployed to the front lines," a silky voice interrupted, from the floor. "It seems to me that if that policy can be altered once, it can be altered twice."

Again, Mustang wondered what the consequences for arranging Morian's death would really be. "As the general just outlined, Armstrong was deployed in an officer role only. It was at the discretion of Major General Armstrong that he be employed in an alchemic role. While I agree that the distinction is slight, I put forth that I kept my word, as I did not deploy the brigadier general. General Hakuro did."

"That's ridiculous," Morian snapped loudly. "In that case, any State Alchemist can be deployed in an 'officer role' whenever the military likes, and your oath is meaningless."

The other generals, however, were muttering to each other, and the Speaker look downright startled. All this time, they'd never seen the fine print in his promise to the State Alchemists. Not to mention he'd added the caveat 'unless a major city is about to fall,' and this situation had of course qualified. The point was that this distinction meant he could deploy alchemists on a non-defensive basis, if he and he alone chose to. Mustang adopted his normal smirk.

"All due respect, speaker, it's my loophole to use when I see fit. It will appear to the Cretians that Amestris is willing to deploy State Alchemists, regardless of my policy against it. I have every intention of using that force in this negotiation as a tool to threaten and bolster Amestris military capabilities."

The one risk he faced was that Parliament could still vote to invade. That was the one problem with giving them part of the responsibility and credit. It also gave them some amount of say in actions to be taken.

"And are you willing to use that loophole to employ National Alchemists in a war against Creta?"

He didn't even hesitate. "That will depend on whether or not Creta gives us our treaty."

- x -

Three.

The traincar bounced slightly as it took the curve, jostling him and forcing him to move his foot out slightly to keep his balance. The officer's cars were especially equipped for comfort and smoothness, to allow planning, drawing, calculations, and sleep. They were split into six separate cabins, three on each side, and they were swank and roomy. Usually only generals and their staff traveled in such luxury, and yet the only thing he noticed was the ride.

It still jostled him.

The IV pole barely moved, though he'd seen the nurse lock the wheels when she'd settled him in for the trip. The litter itself had been set on the table in the center of the cabin, which had a rotating top that converted it into a free-standing bed, and he knew the mattress had to be protecting him a little better than his wooden chair was cushioning him.

Still, every time he saw the body move, it hurt. What if he was waking up. What if he wasn't.

Four.

Despite the jostling, or maybe because of it, his erratic and difficult-sounding breathing had eventually steadied out. Four times a minute. He'd been up to seven at his strongest point in the West HQ infirmary, but even so that was only one breath every ten or so seconds. He'd tried to match it, and despite too many years of smoking he could, but it was uncomfortable and he knew if he kept it up eventually he would pass out.

They weren't just infrequent. They were so damn shallow.

Pithe had resisted the idea of putting him on a train, but acknowledged that the best physicians had fled West on the order of Armstrong prior to the arrival of the Cretians, and he was ill-equipped to treat. They'd taken the spot Pithe had meant for Olivier, who had flatly refused to leave West despite suffering a near-fatal injury herself. A frag grenade, Alex had said, and he had to admit he'd never seen the big guy as terrified as he'd been right then, carrying the major general into the infirmary. Hadn't realized his back was also cut up from the same until a nurse came over with a tray and started working on him.

Just like he hadn't really realized he'd shot Edward Elric in the head until he was walking off the field. A soldier's brain was a funny thing. It wouldn't let you paralyze yourself until there was time for it. Or if it did, you didn't make it too long.

He closed his eyes, hoping the heavy crusting ache of exhaustion would ease, but he didn't have the energy or will to scrub it off himself. He was pretty damn paralyzed now, that was for sure, and the fact that he knew it didn't make it any easier to start moving again.

When the ache didn't slough off he gave up and opened his eyes, and everything was still the same.

One.

The train shifted again, beginning its climb up the last hill before Central, and an oily lock of limp gold hair slipped across Elric's eyebrow. He stared at it, watching each individual strand straining to hold itself still as momentum tried to drag it down. The lights flickered briefly as the engineer prepared them for the tunnel, and the Full Metal Alchemist's head turned towards him, just slightly.

There hadn't been a sight on the rifle. He hadn't even thought about the difference in equipment until he'd gotten his papers and been issued the weapon. Just for executions, it had been a stripped down Enfield with the scope removed, to ensure that bullet placement would be accurate but the marksmen could never be certain his round had been the fatal one. By the time he'd opened his other eye Full Metal had been halfway to the ground, and since he'd clipped him on the far side to get a longer, more shallow shot, he hadn't seen the extent of the damage until he was off the field, getting an ass-chewing from that bulldog of a marshal, watching the body being waved around like it was some kind of-

He closed his eyes again, wishing the image away. So much closer than he'd thought. Far too close. Might as well have shot him right between the fucking eyes instead of drawing it out like this.

Breda tried to make him feel better about the whole thing, and he appreciated it, he really did, but he fucked up and that was that. Every time he thought about arriving in Central his gut twisted up and he wanted to crawl into the head and never come out. It wasn't like Mustang would do anything. Wasn't like he had to worry about anger or fire. No, it would just be the look on his face.

The look on Al's face.

The look on Ed's face.

He had no idea if the colonel would reject the transfer he'd already requested, and if she didn't, he'd -

He'd do whatever it took to get a discharge, honorable or not. Shit. He didn't know what to do, but it was all going to hit when he got there, he needed to be able to think, to move-

Two.

Ambient light in the room dimmed suddenly, and the lights flickered again, taking over for sunlight as the train entered the tunnel. The yellow bulb made everything much duller, and he tucked his hands into his armpits, so his fingers wouldn't stray for that lock of hair.

He didn't have the right to touch him. All he could do was make sure that nothing else happened to him between now and safety. Between now and help.

And after that . . . he didn't know.

The car rattled around what he knew would be a neverending curve that would descend sharply and spit them out practically in Central proper. It wasn't too much longer that he'd get the opportunity to sit here, alone with him. He'd been looking for the words since late afternoon, after the battle, after crawling through the tunnels and going through the interrogation and explaining his uniform over and over again. What could he say?

As always, his mouth didn't help. He'd never been one to babble for the sake of hearing his own voice, but he was the only one who hadn't said anything to him. Not a word of encouragement, of apology, of reassurance. He sat here and he watched over him, and as far as Ed knew he was completely alone. He just couldn't-

Couldn't think of anything to say.

There was a terrific jerk, almost shoving him out of his chair, and Havoc's eyes flew open as he threw out his arms to regain balance. Edward's head rolled away, towards the other side of the car, and Havoc saw that the IV pole was tipping.

He was already on his feet and he sprang forward, bracing his thighs on the edge of the bed and forcing his creaking back to stretch as he made a grab for it. The second his fingertips brushed the pole the bulb over his head brightened like a star, then exploded with a pop that spat glass against the fixture. He flinched hard and then froze, perfectly still, the metal of the pole smooth and cool in his hand.

But the fixture didn't come down, and the squealing of brakes drowned out any alarmed shouts from others in the car. After a moment he realized they were just slowing, not stopping altogether, and as his eyes adjusted to the almost pitch-black, he noticed a strip of light coming from beneath the door.

Just a power surge, then. Blew the bulb. They were going too damn fast.

He swallowed his heart back into his chest, tugging the IV pole slightly closer to the bed, and then straightened, careful not to touch Edward as he felt around with his feet for the legs of his chair. He found it, about where he'd left it, and he settled back slowly. Obviously the engineer had better things to do than tell him where to find a replacement bulb, and they'd be out of the tunnel soon enough. Wasn't as if the dark was bothering Ed, anyway.

He thought about opening the door, then decided against it. For whatever reason, probably the lack of automail, actually, Olivier was keeping a lid on Ed's involvement. They'd probably spirit him off like they'd spirited him on, get him in an ambulance before the press was the wiser. Everyone in the infirmary had seen him, but without the automail few would have recognized him. They'd brought the armor with, it was in the room, in fact, and they might just shove it back on . . . him . . .

Something nagged at him, and Havoc searched the darkness for it. He'd been a soldier too long to ignore the sudden realization that something was wrong -

The clatter of wheels was just the same as before, if a bit slower, and someone was goose-stepping down the corridor. There was no buzz of light in the room, anymore, and outside of occasional creaks of furniture it was quiet.

It was quiet.

He held his own breath, counting his pulse in lieu of watching a timepiece, knowing it was increasing as time in whatever measurement was going by and he heard nothing. No inhale with a labored hiss to it, like his throat was too small, or he was about to start snoring. No sound of breath at all.

Eventually he couldn't hold his own any longer and he let it out, and then his throat constricted and his chest seized and he knew.

He knew and still he listened, staring at the darkness that wasn't quite dark enough to hide the dim outline on the bed. He listened because of course Edward would start breathing again, the doctor said once he stopped he'd never start again and so he hadn't really stopped, it was just a lull. Like the lull right after he'd been hit, the one they presumed had stopped his breathing so the enemy wouldn't see. Like the sudden drop in his blood pressure that had hidden his pulse from them.

This was just like that. A pause.

But it wasn't, and he didn't.

Havoc didn't realize he had let his head drop until it settled on a sheet-covered limb. Onto a human arm that had had its armor peeled away. A dry sob shot out of his constricted chest, but he muffled it, pressing his face into the arm and the mattress and so glad of the sheet because he didn't deserve to touch him, didn't deserve to feel that shadow of heat that would soon be gone.

The wheels screeched again as the train took another, harder curve, and then the descent began.

"Dammit, Ed . . . " He swallowed another sob, taking a deep breath. The blood was pounding in his ears, making the train seem distant. Making it seem like there was a gravelly voice, the voice he'd hoped to hear all this time, hoped and dreaded.

". . . you sweating on me?"

He didn't dare move. Imagining the voice was so much better than leaning up to find it was all in his fucking head. He half-sobbed, half-laughed at his thought. Edward would be appalled to find him crying on him.

"Cut it out."

Havoc felt his face ache as he smiled, and he leaned up quickly, scrubbing his eyes in the elbow of his jacket. "Sorry, chief," he muttered automatically, then swallowed another outburst. "I'm so damn sorry."

Just as he'd thought, the body was right where he'd left it, and as they flashed through one of the tunnel air vents, there was just enough light coming through the window to show him that Edward's eyes were still closed, and his face was still turned toward the IV. Darkness reswallowed the cabin, and yet his voice continued clearly.

"You shot me, didn't you."

Havoc stifled his next breath, staring in open shock at the mostly blackened figure. Then he bit his lower lip until it bled.

He wasn't sleeping, and he wasn't imagining things either. He could hear that voice plain as day.

Unnerved, he glanced up at the ceiling, at the dark and shattered bulb. What if it hadn't been a short . . .?

"Edward?" he breathed.

"Saw you," the darkness trailed on, still filled with gravel but not terribly pained. "Least I think I did, on the line."

He didn't realize he was shaking until he tucked his hands back into his armpits. If anyone could speak from the dead, it'd be Ed, but-

"It was me," he admitted, and then he swallowed hard. Of course, he was dead, the last thing he'd heard was 'steady' and the last thing he saw was an entire fucking army waiting to watch him die. "By the time Breda and I got there, you were-" Screaming in a tent that was surrounded by more people than they had any hope of overpowering, in the middle of the goddamn camp. "We couldn't get to you."

It sounded so inadequate. "We tried, we really did, but there wasn't any point in getting you out of there if we couldn't make it all the way, you know?"

". . . so you shot me?"

Jean cringed. "I thought-" He fought for the words. No point in lying to a dead man. "I thought I could do it," he whispered. "Wasn't much wind, close target, I thought I'd make it look good and maybe, just maybe they'd buy it. If not, at least I'd get us some more time . . ."

"You shot me," Edward repeated unnecessarily.

The wheels squealed again, and Havoc knew they'd been back in bright sunlight soon enough. He wondered if whatever Ed was doing would last that long. Long enough for anyone else to get to speak with him.

"I . . . Ed, I-"

"I guess it was better than my plan," Edward murmured, his voice a little softer. "We on a train?"

Jean nodded. "Yeah, chief. We're almost home." You almost made it home.

The voice didn't reply, and for a moment Havoc thought that he was gone. The car was filled with darkness and silence, and then the voice spoke again.

"The bastard gonna be there?"

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'd expect."

A long pause. "He know?"

A sad smile, and he wondered if Ed really knew he was dead. "Not yet."

"You still crying?"

Even dead, disembodied Ed was tactless. "Don't know what else to do," he admitted, swallowing anything else that might give him away. His eyes were exhausted, they didn't have the strength to hold back tears he'd wanted to let go since the morning.

"Hey," suddenly the gravel was unsure, "it's okay. You did good, Havoc. It worked, didn't it?"

Bright sunlight streamed into the cabin as the train cleared the tunnel, and there was no Edward sitting upright in bed, staring at him with warm golden eyes. No laughing remark about how he must look, crying his heart out. Nothing but pale sunburn and closed eyes. The arm he'd leaned against hadn't moved.

And there was no voice.

"Doesn't seem like it, no," he whispered to the air, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't just shadows.

Right before his eyes, the still chest rose, silently, and the voice came not from darkness, but from barely moving, chapped lips. "Ow."

Havoc just stared at him, mouth agape, unable to believe what he was seeing. Seconds ticked by, and the form didn't move again. Then -

"Turn off the fucking sun, wouldja?"

He jumped to his feet, hands shaking as he hovered over the body, undecided. His eyes were closed, his face was relaxed, he wasn't moving. He was dead, he was-

The faintest tightening of his eyelids, like a subtle squint. The lips parted again. ". . . Havoc . . .?"

"Here," he choked, and the eyes flickered in obvious surprise. He didn't open them, and he didn't say anything else, and Jean almost ran to the windows, drawing the blinds enough to dim the room, but not enough to completely darken it. He returned to the man's side, hesitating once more before pressing two fingers to his neck.

A pulse. Not just his pulse, his was pounding in his ears and this one was much slower. Much weaker.

"The hell?" Another twitch of his eyelids. "I'm talking, aren't I?"

He wanted to say it, to scream it, but suddenly he was crying harder and he had no idea how to stop. He was hysterical, he knew it, he'd seen other soldiers melt down and now it was finally his turn. "Ed-"

He was alive, and he was talking. He was talking to him.

The brakes applied with a squeal, and the train shifted as it began to slow down. Havoc remained just where he was, blinking away tears to make sure, make damn sure that chest kept moving. Ed didn't open his eyes, didn't move a muscle, but he kept right on breathing. Breathing like a regular human again. He eventually swallowed, and it occurred to Jean that he'd probably want some water.

Shit, he should have thought of that, instead of sitting on his ass feeling sorry for himself-

Full Metal took a slightly deeper breath. "Havoc?"

"I'm here."

"Al, didja tell Al?"

Someone must have. "I'm sure he's waiting for you."

The slightest frown. "Gonna kill me," he complained, and Jean laughed. At least he thought he did, until there was a more defined frown. "Need to get ahold of yourself," he advised. "'S fine, Havoc. I forgive you already." Then something else seemed to trouble him, and the outer suburbs of Central were going by before he spoke again.

"Sorn . . ."

Jean wiped his face again., and this time it was a little easier to keep a steady voice. "Still alive."

"Used," Ed muttered. "Blane . . . used him. Not a bad kid. Tell the bastard."

"Tell him yourself."

"Tired," he complained. "We there yet?"

A new fear gripped him so hard he almost couldn't breathe. "Don't you dare go to sleep, Ed, don't even think about it." God, what if he slipped back into the coma? What if he never woke up again? He resisted the urge to shake the living daylights out of the alchemist. "You wanna see Al again, right?"

It took a while for Ed to respond. "Something happen to him?"

Not that he knew of. "Ask him," he said instead. "He'll want to tell you himself."

"Something happened to him, you don't tell me . . . be angry," he slurred, and Jean glanced out the window again, watching HQ moving in the distance. Almost there. They were almost to the station.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Not so much as an eye flicker. "Take it back," he mumbled. "Shoot you, see how you like it."

"Kinda hard to do that sleeping," he pressed, and the wall of the yard slipped past the window. "We're here."

"Kay." Ed sighed softly, and for a terrifying minute he was afraid the man had died. Then he opened his mouth again. "Don't feel so hot."

"I know, chief," he muttered, risking sliding open the door and peeking out into the aisle. Most of the cabins were opening in preparation of arrival, and the nurse was sitting on one of the benches in the hall. She got up immediately at the sight of him, and Havoc took another swipe at his face for good measure. The urge to cry uncontrollably was gone, replaced by the need to get help.

"He's awake," he said urgently, when she was close enough to hear him. "About five minutes now."

And that was all he had to do before the cabin was a blur of activity. He'd been Edward's unofficial companion this entire time, no one had questioned his presence when he'd helped to carry the litter on the train, not even in the infirmary in West, and they didn't question him now. Nor did they put him to work.

He quickly saw there was really nothing else he could do.

The nurse opened the blinds wide, though luckily now they were in the station itself and there was no direct sunlight. Edward still moaned in sleepy protest as she pried open his eyes, one at a time. She and her colleague were charting his vitals by the time the train came to a final stop with the prolonged hiss of steam, and then, finally, she drew the sheet up to Edward's neck and motioned to him.

Time to go.

Havoc took one end of the litter, and the same orderly that had helped load him took the other. It was when they raised it that they ran into the first change.

This time Edward was awake, if not alert. And he obviously hadn't been kidding when he'd said that he didn't feel so great, because the moment the cot fabric was unsupported by the mattress and sagged, and his body sagged with it, his face contorted in pain.

He never cried out, though, as they so carefully maneuvered the litter through the narrow doorjamb, then again through the narrower steps to the platform. Jean did his absolute best to keep the litter level, but they also needed to move quickly, lest anyone spot him and realize who he was. Edward was back to short, sharp breaths by the time Havoc cleared the last stair, and he looked up only to get his bearings on the ambulance.

Instead he found the Prime Minister on his right, and Alphonse Elric on his left.

Mustang was several yards away, in conference with one of the officers from West, but his eye had fallen on them just the same, and just when Ed couldn't keep a small gasp to himself. Al was quite a bit closer, and he shortened that distance as they made their quick way towards the front of the station. Someone had had the foresight to clear a path for the injured, and though they both walked as softly as possible, they couldn't get across the floor gently enough.

Edward was in quite a lot of pain by the time the orderly crawled backwards into the waiting ambulance, and he elevated his end of the litter to keep it level. Ever so carefully they laid it down on the stretcher inside the ambulance, and as soon as he'd let go of his end Alphonse swung into the ambulance, taking the other seat. Havoc didn't so much as blink, shutting the twin doors on the back of the vehicle, and he gave it two firm knocks.

Then it rolled away, and he realized he was standing alone in the car bay, just another soldier in the sea of blue again.

A strong hand clapped him on the back, and Heyman's voice was friendly. "C'mon, Jean. Let's grab some grub. I'll even let ya smoke on the way"

- x -

**Author's Notes** - Well, it was supposed to be tearjerking, but Havoc decided not to get too broken up after all. This should answer the question of how Ed was interpreted dead by the Cretians, and give you a quick reminder about Pinako. Oh, Pinako . . . I guess I need to do something about her too, huh.

I'm guesstimating another eight chapters from here, so those with questions, I'm pretty sure I'll get around to answering them. Standard typo disclaimer applies. And I am going to go check on my polyurethane.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Three Days Later**

- x -

"She's twenty?"

Breda rubbed his cheek irritably, biting back the snap just in time. "Checked it twice."

"Lily Ponmsdaf," Falman murmured, standing at attention behind the seat instead of taking it. Hawkeye didn't give any indication that she cared, watching him steadily as he read the same report she had. "Her parents died the same year his did."

"They grew up in the same house." Heymans modulated his voice slightly as he addressed the colonel. "The kid Al pointed us towards, Arei, confirmed it. Seems it's not weird for the orphans to marry early and older. Poor kid was alone as soon as doc went into med school, so no one thought anything of it when she hooked up with Blane."

Which was a nice way of saying the woman - who looked to be easily in her late twenties thanks to years of constant stress and fear - had become Blane's slave. In every sense of the word. She'd refused to be checked out by the HQ hospital and was begging them for a new identity and a modest apartment in South City. At her own request she was isolated from the other Jannai townsfolk and was refusing to see any of them, though many had inquired about her.

"She called Patterson her brother." Among other things, less polite but no less familiar. "Not blood, unfortunately."

Hawkeye inclined her head. "I noticed." If she had been a blood relative, they had a stronger case. Despite the fact that they had grown up essentially brother and sister, all the jury would see was childhood friends.

And killing the Prime Minister of Amestris over one of your childhood friends was simply not a reasonable excuse.

Not that anything really was. Even if Jannai had had ten times the number of people, it still probably wouldn't mean enough.

"Did he give you a reason for not coming to us for help?"

Heymans did his best to adopt a neutral mask. He wasn't nearly as good at it as she and Mustang, but his long illness had helped him cultivate a more bored expression. "He said he figured it was too late."

That was an understatement. Just watching him when he'd laid out the situation, curled there on his cot in light blue, leaning against his thin pillow and the wall. It was clear he cared a great deal for the woman who literally spit on the ground when she said his name.

He hadn't shared that with doc, but in hindsight he probably should have.

"Once she was put in the situation, getting her out as soon as possible was unattractive next to the possibility of it never happening to begin with," Falman elaborated, and Hawkeye gave him an amused look.

"I do understand the concept of time travel, First Lieutenant."

"Yes ma'am." He inclined his head in apology. "I'm just . . . surprised that anyone with Franklin Sorn's background in mathematics might have thought it was actually possible."

"I'm sure that background is the very reason he did."

Not that any of them knew for sure. Kid was clammed up tighter than Blane. Hadn't really said anything since the jeep, to him or Jean, and apparently Hakuro's men weren't getting much further with him. Mustang wasn't letting them get as rough with the kid as they'd gotten with Blane, of course, but Sorn had been completely withdrawn by the time they'd hit West, and near as he could tell, the kid hadn't actually spoken to anyone since.

"Turns out that was Blane's idea, actually," Breda supplied, gesturing at another fat file on the colonel's desk. "Doc said Blane had been wishing he could undo past mistakes since the town knew him. He figures Sorn originally developed the idea as a way to pay Blane back for his 'kindness'."

For a genius, the kid really was an idiot.

"We'll need more," Vato murmured, flipping to the last page in the report. "He will be tried as an adult due to the certification and military rank."

Breda smiled humorlessly. "If we're going to treat him like an adult, maybe we should question him like one."

Hawkeye didn't seem to see anything funny about it either. "Speaking of which, do you intend to report Havoc's location anytime in the near future?"

Heymans gave her an innocent look, though Falman had finally pried his eyes off the words to observe. "I'm not certain I understand what the colonel is inferring-"

She tapped a thin interdepartmental envelope on her desk. "His report and extended leave papers arrived this morning."

. . . shit. Breda dropped the mask to sigh, rubbing at his cheek again. Not that he wasn't glad the hair was growing back, it just itched like the dickens and he was too damn stressed at the moment to deal with it. "He feels like he let 'em both down." And he wasn't surprised Jean mailed them in instead of handing the packet to her in person. In his messed-up head, she wouldn't have grazed Edward that deep.

In his messed-up head, there was a happier ending than the one they ended up with. Which was a live Edward Elric, a live boss, a live West City . . . a live everybody.

But somehow he agreed with Jean. Good as everything had turned out, it really sucked.

The colonel's faintly irritated expression didn't fade like he'd expected it to. "Then he needs to be notified that isn't the case. I'd rather not have to order him in."

There was something to be said for that. Havoc was currently on leave, he had plenty and obviously she hadn't denied it. But dragging him in would just put him that much more ill at ease over the whole thing. Then again, he was pretty damn ill at ease as it was. "I'll see if I can track him down." He knew - and was pretty sure Hawkeye did too - that Jean had spent his waking moments since returning to Central in his apartment, the shooting range, and the gym. He was specially trained in covert ops, and he could hide from them if he wanted to. This wasn't hiding.

This was trying to make up his mind about something.

"Give him an update on Edward's condition as well."

Breda hesitated. "I heard he wasn't really up and around yet."

"He's stable, and hasn't shown any indication of falling back into a coma," Falman murmured. "He's currently being treated by a Dr. Lise Dalyell. Sheska hasn't found any leads between her and Hakuro or Parliament of note, and Fuery's keeping a close eye on communications going in and out."

Heymans did his very best not to do anything at all. He didn't want to think about why they had to do that kind of background investigation on the doctors that were treating Ed and Al Elric, because then he'd be sitting right back down there, in front of that cell, with one foot propped against the steel bars, while that bastard told him to his face that he'd arranged their meeting to get closer to Mustang and nothing more.

He'd arranged to meet Fuery and Havoc, too, but they'd gotten along so well it hadn't been necessary. Got all the information he ever wanted out of him. Thought he was a great guy, but outside of that need to get Blane info on Mustang he wouldn't have given him another thought.

He knew it wasn't true. Knew it. The doc had spent too much time with him and Fuery when they'd been laid up. He'd just fucking cared too much for any of that bullshit to be true. Sure, he might have looked him up originally for that reason, but shortly they'd become friends.

He just wasn't a good enough friend to get Patterson the hell out of this mess like the doc had gotten him through the poisoning. And Patterson was pushing him away to keep him from sticking his neck out.

He knew it. He fucking _knew_ it and it still pissed him off. Maybe more that he wasn't someone Patterson had thought he could confide in. They'd known each other for years. Could have gotten Lily out of that mess years ago. But who was he kidding, he was just chopped liver next to Mustang and the Elrics. They would have done it for him, done almost anything for him.

But instead they'd just been used for information - hell, even two hours ago he knew he'd been used for information. Patterson had pressed him for details on what was going on, the war, what would happen to Sorn. Got as much data out of him as possible before all but fucking dismissing him. And he knew why, he knew it and it just didn't help.

"Major."

Breda looked up, noticing that the colonel was watching him closely. Having obviously just told or asked him something. Which, for the life of him, he didn't remember hearing.

Hawkeye's look softened slightly, and gave Falman a significant glance. The silver-haired man saluted and left without a verbal dismissal, and Heymans resisted the urge to sink into his chair.

So much for hiding things.

He waited until he heard the door close, but started before she even bothered to ask. "I told him what was going on before I even noticed it," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Dammit, I know he's a good guy."

Hawkeye folded her hands neatly on the desk, silently, and he reflected that she was just as good at getting information out of him as Patterson was. Thank god Hakuro hadn't taken a page from their book. "Did he say anything else?"

Nothing they could use to defend him. "Said he wanted the death penalty if it would spare the kid."

Which it wouldn't. And doc'd probably be executed anyway, it wasn't like he needed to ask for the death penalty after admitting to a plot to assassinate Mustang. He knew damn well that Mustang was in session right now, and he'd fight for both of them, but he also knew as well as Hawkeye that he didn't have much ground to stand on.

"Jean . . ." He hesitated; he wasn't sure it was something he ought to share. "Jean thought about it. I think he might've if I hadn't gotten the jeep when I did." Havoc's face, when he had the kid pinned . . . and the way he was pinned. No doubt it had crossed his mind. Crossed his own mind more than once, waiting for the opportunity to get Sorn and get the hell out of there before their shaky cover was completely blown.

And even though he knew, just like Hawkeye did, that it would be Parliament ordering their executions along with Blane, it wouldn't matter to Mustang. If he couldn't get them out of this, Roy would consider it the same as if he'd killed them himself.

Mad as he was at Patterson, he didn't want to see the guy die for this either.

"It should go without saying," the colonel said carefully, "that you should not feel as if you failed your mission either."

Heymans gave her a wry grin. "I suppose we did get Ed and Sorn out of there. Just wish we'd done it a day sooner is all."

"If you had, West would have fallen," she reminded him. "Edward and Franklin delayed the army for an entire day. If Armstrong hadn't had that time, she wouldn't have been successful."

"I know. I know it all worked out the best way it could." He sighed, playing with the coverlet on the armrest of the chair. "Just wish it felt that way."

She let it go at that, and leaned back in her own chair. "How is Hakuro handling this?"

He shook his head. "Won't touch me with a ten foot pole now that he's read doc's confession. Wouldn't be surprised if he uses it as an excuse to re-investigate the uranium bomb. I've been tailed for the past couple days, but he hasn't actually called me on the carpet yet."

No, his in with Hakuro was well and truly gone, and the fact that he was linked to Patterson as an informant could be a serious problem. If the general wanted to spin it like he'd actually known and purposefully given the doc information that could have led to an assassination attempt, he'd be on the block with the rest of them. Probably not to the same degree, since it would be almost impossible to prove and Patterson sure as hell would never say it, but it would cause trouble for them nonetheless.

"You know, we've all always served two masters." He dropped the armrest cover and stood. "Hurts just as much to disappoint you as it does Mustang."

- x -

He couldn't get out of the way.

Edward Elric tried to swallow back panic and bile, fighting with everything he had to just turn his head. He was buried in it past his ears, it had seeped around his neck and clung there like a damp knotted sweater. There seemed to be a current, or perhaps it was being displaced by the tanks, but it had an oddly sinuous movement to it that reminded him too much of the arms. Like the Gate was the source of it, and they would slowly drag him down, further and further, until it was in his eyes, in his mouth, until he melted and became just more ingredients in the human stew.

He released a shaky breath, trying to curl his hand into a fist. The fluid, sticky suspension of mud, clay, spent fuel and human gristle shot between his fingers like soap, but still, he had no strength.

His body was too weak to get up. The surface tension was too strong, too sticky.

He was trapped. And while it was creeping deep into his ear canal, occasionally it brought with it the rumble of the armors as they went by, oblivious to the fact that he was fallen but still alive. There would be silence, and then the cracking rumble of straining metal and slick treads that would grind over his aching body and crush him, tearing flesh from bone and driving him deep into the sea of death until it was in his lungs, until he drowned.

He couldn't breathe.

Edward tried to call out, knowing he was as likely to be found by foe as friend, but his throat couldn't seem to do more than croak. It stung as if he'd fallen asleep drunk and the liquor had been allowed to burn its slow way down, and despite all his effort he heard only unarticulated grunts. Terror gripped him as the vile potion swelled, slicking its way up across his chest with a purposeful malevolence, and he felt it finally seep far enough into the port of his leg to encounter the nerves.

It was far too muted but still a terrible sting, and he jerked in the blood concrete, unsurprised to find that the effort brought only pain from his battered body and eased him deeper into the congealing muck. It had clotted to his hair, he could feel it tugging as rivulets of the stuff went by, as a tank thundered past impossibly closely. He managed only another moan, trying with everything he had to move, to raise his hand. The automail was gone, but he could still crawl, would still crawl.

Off the field. He needed off the field, he was late and he'd made a promise and he had to go.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The how swirled around his brain in confusion, bits of memories and the certainty of death when he didn't recall the battle at all. His leg began to burn as all his fruitless movement agitated the deadly brew, and the first fingers of it finally brushed along his jaw. Where was the train? If he could just get to the train, everything would be fine, but he'd lost his sense of direction, and another tank shuddered by nearly on top of him. He flinched hard-

And opened his eyes with a strangled cry.

The field was gone, though the stench of it was still heavy in his nostrils, and he saw only a dully reflective white. Something was moving around his head, and he froze, afraid of retaliation. His breaths were coming in short, painful gasps, and there was a maddening tickle on his jaw.

"You're safe. You're safe."

It had been there all along, under the roar of things, but he hadn't wanted to hear the words. He couldn't remember why, though, already the nightmare was just wisps he couldn't waft together into a whole. It was a voice that send a chill down his spine just the same, and he painfully turned his head towards it.

Al.

Al was watching him, his face a mask of exhaustion, and it was his hand on his hair. Stroking it. "You're safe," he repeated, and then there was a terrific crash.

He jumped again despite himself, and this time the moan was far easier, and far more well-deserved. Every muscle creaked with disuse and atrophy, and it took him several breaths to realize that the explosion had been thunder.

But he wasn't out in the field. He was in a room, a lit room that flickered a little with lightning and the weather. The soft murmur of Alphonse hadn't diminished, it was more of a mantra, really. Like he'd been saying it for so long the words had ceased to have any meaning for him, and he was repeating the sounds on muscle memory alone. It was the way he said them, chant-like, that was assuaging.

Edward swallowed back his next gasp, blinking and unhappy at finding dampness. His entire body felt damp, slick with old sweat and oil and thoroughly disgusting. It also ached in ways he'd never felt before, and when he curled his legs experimentally he found the sheets covering him to be excruciatingly rough.

"You're safe," Al soothed, and stroked his hair.

Al didn't realize he was awake.

The thought startled him, and he wondered if he really was. Al . . . no, not Al, someone else, he thought he recalled talking to someone else, and a train, and then . . . then the field, he'd been dropped from the stretcher and there was blood, the bodies had been crushed into mud and he'd been suffocating in it-

Ed took a slightly deeper breath, swallowing again, and shook his head slightly to clear it. Abruptly Al's hand fell still, which felt extremely weird against his scalp, and he wondered how long Al had been sitting there playing with his hair.

Listening to his nightmare. Dammit.

"Nii-san?"

Another crash of thunder, but this time he didn't jump, and he craned his head up to look towards his brother again. He tried for a smile, but quite suddenly there was another emergent need. "Bucket," he croaked, and it didn't take his startled brother long to decipher. Al shot off the bed, and only then did he realize that he'd been laying against him, because now he was flatter on his back than before, and that did _not_ help.

But then there were arms from the opposite side of the bed, steel ones that propped him right back up, and a trash can materialized in front of him, that he wrapped his arms around tightly, just to make sure it couldn't go anywhere. He swallowed again, hoping to chase the feeling away, but that just made everything worse, and he ignored the slow tilt of the room in lieu of relaxing his upper body.

The dry heaves were relatively unproductive, nor did they make him feel better in the slightest, and he didn't realize that he was hugging the trash can with his forehead resting on the far lip until someone tried to take it away. He clung to it stubbornly, hearing voices but not registering what they were saying.

Do not. Take. The bucket.

"Mmnot done," he managed with his next exhale, and before he could even take another breath he found out how right he was.

He held fast to the trash can until he felt better, though how long that took was anyone's guess and now the can smelled sour and he was pretty sure whatever had been bothering him was no longer a problem. He surrendered it, finally, blinking blurry eyes and laying back down. There were bars where there shouldn't have been any, and they didn't stay still, so he shrugged them off and curled up on his side. It was agonizing to move, but somehow he felt almost relieved when he managed it, and it was a long time before he realized the thunder was gone.

More importantly, there was something cold in his mouth.

Ed moved his tongue, hating the thick and furry feeling of it, and then there was something else cold, cold and welcome against his lips. He opened his eyes, more because he wasn't shivering and couldn't figure out how he could be eating snow, and found himself staring at a very familiar face.

"You gonna stay awake this time?" she teased him, sliding the chip of ice between his lips, and he heard the shifting of fabric over his shoulder.

"Hmm?" It was, without a doubt, very sleepy Al.

Winry gave him a considering sort of look, then glanced away - probably at Al. "I've got open eyes."

Edward blinked, sucking on the piece of ice, and shortly there was a scruffy and sleep-crusted little brother beside Winry. Both actually moved away, though, rather than closer, and he had only had time to realize it before someone else came into view. A white coat, white teeth in a wide smile.

"Good afternoon. I'm Doctor Dalyell, I'll be taking care of you. Can you tell me your name?"

He stared at her in blank confusion, then past her at the more familiar, hopeful-looking faces. Where the hell was Patterson? Unless he wasn't in Central . . . Ed tried to get a better look at the room, but they were all too close, and Dr. Dalyell was only leaning in more. Drawing back hurt just too damn much, and he had no choice but to bear it when she reached out and pried one of his eyes more fully open.

"Sir?"

He squeezed his eyes shut defensively as he saw the dreaded penlight, but couldn't summon the energy or will to try to grab her hand. "Where am I?"

She rested her fingers on his face, clearly patient enough to wait for him to adjust. "You're in Central City. Do you remember being here before, Mr . . . ?"

"It's okay," Al murmured, sounding as if he thought he was going to get admonished for speaking. "You can tell her."

He swallowed again, wishing for another chip of ice. "Edward Elric," he finally said. "I've been here more times than I care to count." Oddly, he had to stop to take a breath, but his throat felt better. "Where's Patterson?"

"Very good," she praised him. "Dr. Patterson is unavailable, so I'm going to be administering your treatments. Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Not if you're gonna shine a light at me, no." There was a snort, as if someone was stifling a sneeze or laugh, and then the unmistakable sound of Winry hitting someone.

"I need to check on your progress, Mr. Elric." Obviously she'd met recalcitrant patients before. Maybe if she'd stop shining a damn light in people's eyes they'd be more willing to look at her. She wasn't ugly by any stretch, in her late thirties, though he couldn't recall her eye or hair color from the single glance he'd taken. She had a very matronly tone about her, which was soothing and alarming all at the same time.

"Later," he mumbled, unnerved by how much effort speaking was.

"Now," she contradicted gently, and despite his best efforts pried one of his eyes open.

She did indeed shine a light in his eye, and it was as blinding and painful as he'd thought. He tried to pull away, knowing it was only going to hurt but truly surprised at just how much, and then she very firmly caught the crown of his head with her other hand. It was like a mountain; she pinned him with ease and there was nothing he could do about it. She was also able to pry eyes open and shine lights into them with the same hand, much to his unhappiness.

"Ow," he protested, and the light and objectionable prying was withdrawn.

"Your pupils are still quite dilated, Mr. Elric," she informed him conversationally, and he heard the click of a pen. "Is there pain?"

Is there pain. "Now," he grumbled, and she cleared her throat.

Ed cracked his eyes open and glared at her, and was stunned to see her glaring right back.

"Your chart says that you've had quite a time recently," she began calmly, though her expression was dangerous. "You were knocked unconscious by an underground explosion, suffering a mild concussion and first and second degree burns to most of your body." She turned two pages, and the writing on both the front and back of the sheets indicated Patterson had had quite a lot to say on the matter.

"Two days later you fell approximately forty feet, aggravating the concussion in severity from mild to aggressively moderate and suffering contusions, bruising, and local inflammation." Several more pages turned. "It was also the opinion of your physician you were not getting adequate rest during this period. Shortly thereafter you continued your policy of not resting, and were dispatched on a classified mission that returns you to me in your current state." She flipped another page, and Ed was surprised to see what looked like the entire second half of the chart still unread.

"Chemical burns to bottom extremities, electrical burns to all extremities, a severely aggravated concussion, hairline skull fractures, a laceration of the scalp requiring seventeen stitches, dehydration, exhaustion, additional first degree burns to the face and hands, and more pulmonary problems than I care to go over in this summary." She closed the chart with a heavy slap. "In short, third time was the charm. You've heard it before, clearly, but you're so lucky to be alive I have my doubts that you actually are."

He blinked at her, completely taken aback, and she tapped him on the face with the chart. " Your boss is excessively protective. However, to treat all your symptoms I need more information, classified or not. Did you perform significant alchemy between falling a couple stories and showing up in West with a gunshot wound to the head?"

Edward hesitated, mouth agape, before looking towards his brother. "Help," he managed.

Alphonse looked quite a bit more awake than he had when he'd first circled over to Winry, and he had a hospital blanket pulled about him. He was shirtless, though the sling was present, and his hair was a mess. While he looked enormously relieved and pleased, he did not appear about to leap in front of the woman and save him from the interrogation. "You did, didn't you."

Yeah. That. Edward closed his eyes, hoping to drift off and get out of the question, but he was tapped again quite firmly with the folder. "Nice try. The more information you give me, the better meds I give you."

Now there was some bargaining if he'd ever heard it. "Yes," he grumbled. "I transmuted an acre into a fort." Again, he found himself short of breath, and he consciously increased the volume of air he was breathing. "An' cannons. Oh, they were great, Al. Wish I coulda used the one I made for the bastard."

He opened his eyes again to see that Al didn't think that was great, not great at all, and it occurred to him belatedly _why_ his brother wore that expression.

"Pulled the muscle," he offered, then he realized that wouldn't make any sense. "The amplifier. Think of alchemy like a muscle. Amplifier caused the inner Gate to stretch too far. Pain was just stiffness. I'm fine. All of us are probably fine, just need to stretch it out."

"Stretch it out," Al repeated weakly.

"Does that make sense to you?" If Winry was whispering, she was doing a shitty job.

"Maybe," his brother replied after a moment, but it sounded plaintive. "Ed-"

"I only ask because you've sustained significant damage to your heart," Dr. Dalyell interrupted, somewhat more audibly sternly. "As such, despite the poor condition of your muscular system, you are confined to bed for another four days and to a wheelchair, no more than three hours a day, for a week following."

Right. Like that'd happen.

"If necessary, Brigadier General Alex Armstrong, who is a fellow certified alchemist, will be brought in to enforce these rules." The chart was apparently reopened, and a note made. "Until then, you will be restricted to extremely light water-based therapy."

Great. Even if it was only armor, he'd still sink like a stone-

His eyes shot open, then, as the true meaning of the words came through. West. He'd arrived in West with a gunshot wound to the head.

And not wearing the armor. It was probably still with the Cretian army. Luis probably kept it as a souvenir.

He tilted his chin down, trying to see his right arm, which he was lying on, and was unsurprised to see the now-familiar scar shining up at him from his shoulder.

"All staff on this wing has signed a confidentiality agreement concerning the lack of automail," she said in a slightly more reassuring voice. "Your automail mechanic is here partly as a friend and partly as your cover. The armor is locked in the cabinet over there," and she indicated some spot behind him that wasn't worth the bother of looking at, "but you will not be using it for two weeks at least."

Probably weight. She didn't explain, and he was too tired to ask.

The hell he was going to be without it for two weeks. He'd be seen. Hakuro would be in here literally as soon as Mustang looked the other way -

His eyes widened again. _Shit._ Sorn.

He was supposed to make Sorn disappear. If he got shot, then where the hell was the kid? For some reason, he thought Franklin was still alive, but it could have just been a dream. He could have still been a prisoner - no, he could clap to transmute-

_Shit!_ And he couldn't very well tell Al Franklin had performed a successful human transmutation with this woman in the room.

Dalyell misinterpreted his expression. "You still have use of all your limbs, though it's too early to know what nerve damage is permanent. But I can say for certain that you had a medically emergent cardiac strain and hours of arrhythmia, I can only assume during the trip to West City. If not for the use of healing alchemy, you would be on a respirator by now with a lung sac full of fluid." Her eyes were an odd combination of blue and possibly green, and they were uncompromising.

"Trust me when I tell you that healing alchemy cannot give you a new heart, Mr. Elric. Give your body time to rest. That means no strains, no excitement, no walking, no additional weight on your chest or system."

For right now, he had no desire to walk, but he did recognize the pain in his body as being cramps. Of course, the fucking tub. The electricity had tensed muscles he didn't even know he had. He hadn't felt this bad even when Izumi had beaten the crap out of them as kids, before he got into shape.

Cardiac damage also explained the nausea and vomiting. So this Dalyell wasn't an idiot. He knew when he'd pushed Luis that he'd been asking for it, literally, but he really didn't know what happened after-

After he'd taken what he'd thought was a one-way ticket out of that situation. Obviously West had held, or he would never have made it from there to Central, so Sorn couldn't have given them much, but surely if the kid had transmuted the damn Stone someone would have said something by now. Hakuro wouldn't have tolerated letting him wake up in a hospital with Al and Win.

"The war?"

"You don't need to worry about the war," she said crisply. "You're safe here, Mr. Elric. As for _you_, lieutenant colonel, I'll assign you to a separate room if I don't see your ass in that bed a full sixty percent of the time I visit. And I will visit often." Ed opened his eyes to see that Al wasn't even looking at her. Poor deluded woman. She'd figure it out soon enough.

. . . wait, _what?_

"Ms. Rockbell, do see if you can keep them in line. Your grandmother is doing a fantastic job of running Ackernath off. I expect to see the same tenacity out of you."

Winry gave the doctor a smile that seemed sincere enough, and then Dalyell turned back on him. "We'll begin your physical therapy tomorrow morning. Until then, I don't want to see you unless you're sleeping or eating."

Good. So she wouldn't bother him if he was playing ping-pong. A thousand questions played on his tongue, and he tried to mentally shove her out the door.

"If you have any questions, have the nurses summon me. Since you've remained conscious this long, I'm going to assume you're not going to slip back into a coma. I'll try to find something to manage your pain that won't upset your stomach."

Which was just damn silly, his chart was chock full of wonderful past prescriptions. Possibly illegal or experimental, but wonderful just the same. "Patterson's stuff is pretty good."

"I'll see what I can find," she repeated, and oddly, gave the other two occupants in the room a hard look. "In bed," she added, and he clearly heard his brother grumble under his breath. Then he closed his eyes, listening for the click of the door to indicate when she'd truly gone, and he could start asking questions.

Exhaustion took him far faster than he thought possible, and the next time he opened his eyes it was dark.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: For once, I don't have the urge to hide from you folks. ; ) Not much going on here but cleanup, but boy is there a lot of cleanup. Patterson, Sorn, and Blane are all looking at a firing squad, Pinako's right where we left her, Hakuro is up to no good whatsoever . . . hmm. Sounds like my usual.

Standard typo disclaimer applies. I have counted, so now I'm going to play the 'Can Mitai accurately guess how many chapters this one-shot will actually be?' game. I'm wagering . . . 36 chapters in total, not counting any additional notes I may post. (Watch it be forty. ; ) I'm tempted to start a wagering game with a prize for the winner, but I'm afraid it would be too hard to call, since then I might be trying for a number no one had guessed. ; )


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"It is the finding of this Parliament that Creta is in violation of the Treaty of Seines, articles one, two B, four, seven, eight, and twelve. Due to the nature of the violations, Amestris has no choice but to declare war."

It surely hadn't come as a surprise, and he watched the posturing of the four diplomats with a bored expression. They had had reason to be surprised two days ago, when they were graciously invited into the House only to be immediately placed under arrest and notified of their trial date. They also had had reason to be surprised when their government had demanded that the treaty section six be honored, and Amestris had ignored them entirely. He had ordered that not even an acknowledgement of receipt of the message be sent them.

But they had no reason to be surprised by the idea that Amestris would retaliate. They would have been facing her retaliation even if they had succeeded in capturing West. He hoped Parliament was as unimpressed as he was by the large eyes and sudden protests.

The Speaker was indeed largely ignoring the show, continuing to read from the accord they'd hammered out last night. "The full might of Amestris' State Military will be brought to bear on Creta if we do not receive her full and unconditional surrender by the fifteenth of the month." Giving them a full three days to consider whether it was worth it. Also giving the State military three days to get their act together, in case Creta called their bluff. "You are hereby released to convey the message to your country's leaders. You will be escorted to the Amestrian border and left with reasonable provisions to sustain you until your country should arrange rescue. We shall communicate our demands and your position via telephone and telegraph, and each of you shall bear one copy, signed and dated by this Parliament."

The redundancy added insult to injury, and the protesting Cretians were being quick to point it out. Luckily, the Speaker was carefully folding his document and paid them no more attention, addressing the Parliament as a whole. "At this time the prisoners will be released per the three-day deadline. Does any member have any objections at this time?"

While last night the objections might have been suggestions to send them over the border as the Cretians' declaration of war had been sent to Amestris, this morning everyone was too tired for such drama. The diplomats had been housed in the capitol building and while they hadn't been comfortable, in a concrete cell minus the usual provisions of a sink, toilet, furniture, or bedding, they had not been subject to significant amounts of taunting. In their defense, they truly were just the messengers, and Parliament had shied away from behavior that might link them back to the days of Bradley.

Roy had been slightly surprised to see that Hakuro supported this strategy, considering how he'd been handling the interrogations of the internal suspects. Who, unfortunately, were next on the agenda.

"There are no objections. General Hakuro, please carry out your duties as defined by the Parliament."

His duties turned out to be a rather noisy affair of Cretian bluster and gnashing of teeth, but soon enough the diplomats were herded out, and the House was rather quiet as they listened to the parade make its way toward the street, where an armed convoy waited to escort them to the train that would take them to West City.

"I don't suppose anyone remembered to give them the copy of the documents?" one speaker murmured, and the tension was broken by laughter. The Speaker looked over the assembled men, waiting patiently for the general to return before resuming session.

"I think that went rather well, gentlemen."

Full might of the military indeed. They had chosen quite ambiguous wording, perhaps a bit more than Roy himself would have. But then again, that was why they were Parliament, and he was the Prime Minister. Politics were a fact of life in the military, and he played them well, but he wasn't playing in the military court anymore, and the people's politics truly needed the responsibility of that role.

General Hakuro and one of his aides re-entered the room, and he bowed to both him and the Speaker. "The diplomats are safely on their way, Speaker, Minister. I daresay I've never had to babysit such large children in my life."

Another round of laughs from the House, and the general retook his seat. The Speaker cleared his throat. "Onto the next order of business. If it pleases the House, I call on General Hakuro to give us an update on the suspects currently being held in relation to the assassination attempts on Prime Minister Roy Mustang."

Roy remained silent and still in his seat at the bench while the general gathered up his notes and took the podium. Despite the long night and continued deliberations, he looked better than he had for several days, and his tone was brisk. "I'll get right to the point, gentlemen. We have only one signed confession at this time. The man we believe masterminded the plot, Avram Blane, has confirmed only what we are able to guess. Lieutenant Maves was released from the HQ infirmary this morning with thirty-nine stitches in the bitten limb, and at his own request is resuming his duties." The general turned to the next sheet amid almost pin-drop silence from Parliament.

Obviously the rumor of what Hakuro was going to share with them was out.

"The Mechanical Alchemist, the suspect widely believed to have performed most of the actual work, has been thus far unwilling to speak in his own defense. Due to his youth, the most serious forms of coercion are not being utilized with him, but it is the belief of the chief interrogator, Major General Lee Tash, that such measures will be necessary to extract honest and accurate information from him."

A brief murmur, but nothing more. "I stand before Parliament today to request that three trial dates be scheduled immediately for the following suspects: Avram Blane, citizen. Dr. Timothy Patterson, citizen. Franklin Sorn, major of Amestris' State military. All three suspects are to be charged with the following offenses: high treason, misprision of treason, sedition, and espionage. Avram Blane is to be additionally charged with kidnapping, assault, aggravated sexual assault, bioterrorism, several counts of attempted murder, and intent to commit murder. Timothy Patterson is to be additionally charged with two counts of attempted murder. Franklin Sorn is to be additionally charged with assault, assault on a superior officer, attempted murder, desertion, failure to carry out a direct order, forgery, and attempted human transmutation."

The hundred voices poured forth in a dull roar, and Mustang went over the list in his head. Attempted human transmutation instead of going for it all. The general would put a humanitarian spin on it, but it was probably the best he thought he could prove. Fletcher had apparently refused to admit to the general's interrogation staff that he had seen the Gate, saying he remembered suffocating and then waking up in the same room. And no one had given Sorn the opportunity to demonstrate that he could indeed perform alchemy without an array. He wasn't sure the teen was stupid enough to demonstrate even if he was given the opportunity. Or whether he actually could. Unless Alphonse's theory that Sorn transmuted a Philosopher' Stone years ago was correct, it was fully possible Sorn just happened to get to Fletcher in the nick of time.

The Speaker was to his right, and tilted his head towards Mustang without looking at him. "Are you permitting the release of all details?"

The general and the Speaker had always had most of the details, and once he'd included them, requiring them to stay silent was equivalent to wrapping blackmail material in festive ribbons and having it delivered via candygram. "Of course." And if Creta got wind that the alchemist that was helping them was intent on human transmutation, all the better. It only strengthened their military position.

The Speaker stood. "I will have quiet on the floor," he demanded, and eventually the men settled down. "Your list of charges is quite serious indeed. Do you feel you have sufficient evidence to proceed with such trials at this time?"

The general inclined his head. "We do, Speaker."

That was pretty direct. "Do any of the members have questions for the general at this time?"

This time the speakers were required to be recognized before speaking, and the questioning process went along a bit more smoothly. Explain the human transmutation charge. Explain the bioterrorism charge. The general was quite patient as he laid out the truth in concise, easy to understand sentences. He did an acceptable job of keeping his personal opinion out of things, and was forced by Morian, of all people, to explain the reasons for Patterson's, then Sorn's role in Blane's quest for a Philosopher's Stone.

"Are there further questions for the general?"

"What steps will be taken to ensure the process is objective?" Morian indicated the bench. "As you know, trials including charges of high treason are overseen by Parliament in conjunction with the judicial system. Though he is a victim and will be called upon to testify, the personal relationship of two of the accused with the Prime Minister would normally exclude him from the sentencing proceedings. Will such an exclusion be advised for these trials?"

As if one vote would make much difference. Mustang considered moving that Morian's comment was inflammatory and should be struck from the records, but it was a valid point. He would be called upon the stand to testify that people came to try to kill him. If he was very lucky, he could weasel out of having to swear under oath that he had seen the Cretian plot coming all along.

Lying under oath at this juncture would require one hell of a good reason.

Hakuro hesitated. "Due to the unique nature of these proceedings, having never occurred under a people's government, I recommend we call upon the Prime Minister to vote objectively. As you pointed out, he is the victim of this plot, and his life and the lives of his people were placed in danger, but as a prominent political figure, that is to be expected of each of us. I do not believe it will cause him to unduly punish the accused."

That wasn't how Morian had meant it and he knew it well, but Hakuro finished it with such finality that he could hardly protest. The Speaker didn't seem ruffled by the question, and when everyone indicated they had no more questions, the vote was taken.

Two days.

- x -

"You really weren't kidding, were you."

The familiar realization that someone was talking about him, _again_, while he was right there washed over him, and Edward Elric pried open his eyes to glare death and destruction on the guilty party.

The guilty party, quite unfortunately, was currently being protected by thick steel bars. He was also grinning disarmingly. "Wow," he continued in a chipper voice. "It does work."

"I think he's conditioned himself to respond to it," Al agreed, seated safely on a cot that was too far away to reach. "But he falls asleep so often and so deeply the only way to wake him up is to piss him off."

"That's because it's all you've tried," Ed grumbled nastily, realizing that he had indeed drifted off. Again. "I'm sure I'd be in a much better mood if I wasn't getting picked on all the time."

"You'd be in a much better mood if you didn't have the heart of an eighty year old," Russell corrected him, from well within beating distance. His wheelchair had been brought quite close to the bars to allow Fletcher Tringum to be tested as well as to assess in diagnosing him. He had been vaguely alarmed when Al had been revealed as the performer of the healing alchemy that had been used on him thus far, and had barely stopped himself from demanding Winry to tell him what the _hell_ she thought she was doing letting Al of all people use alchemy on _him._ At the last second he remembered that Pinako was probably still in Central if Winry was, and he knew exactly what she'd put in her chart.

But as soon as she'd left, he'd forbade Al from any more alchemy and demanded that if he was that determined, he needed to get the Tringums involved. And neither had wanted to do that, since Russ was all but incarcerated with Fletcher to keep Hakuro from torturing the poor kid, so he'd thought he was home free.

Until Al - or Winry - or both - had conned Dr. 'I'll yell' into allowing this little field trip. Only after his water therapy, of course, and the accidental nap that had occurred while he was waiting for the nurses to hoist him out . . . and when he was drying off . . . and the trip back to the room . . . and apparently the next few hours. He felt like one of Al's stupid kittens, couldn't even keep his damn eyes open.

So he found it exceptionally tacky that the guy he'd covered himself in blankets for and allowed himself to be wheeled visibly through half the Prime Minister's wing for would be giving him a hard time. "It's not that bad."

Though he'd fallen asleep during the evaluation, apparently. Unless they put him out on purpose . . .or they fucked up and he passed out . . .

Or Russ was right. The physician in him readily agreed with the elder Tringum's assessment. He was going to be this weak for at least ten or eleven days more, and probably wouldn't be fully up to snuff for months. It was almost as bad as getting automail.

Which, incidentally, had not helped him in the least. The strain on his body, carrying automail as a child, had been huge, and had probably shaved a few years off his life. This had certainly not helped. He sobered a little as he realized, yet again, that he was rather glad he'd missed whatever Luis had done to him between the time he started and the time he woke up to find himself in front of a firing squad.

And he could only hope the kid was either too damn proud or too socially maladjusted to have been affected by however it had looked and sounded. Hopefully once he'd lost time he'd stopped showing the pain.

This new doc was right. He was damn lucky.

"Maybe the soul of one, too. You're getting downright crotchety, Full Metal."

Luckier than he had any right to be.

"You wander around in enemy territory missing you know what and we'll see how happy you are," he grumbled in return, but he didn't mean it. His own tests had confirmed that there was a soul - maybe Fletcher's, maybe someone else's - attached to that body. It was worth the teasing to confirm that Fletcher was indeed alive and well and sitting in front of him, in a cell or not. Currently scratching his head with a gauze-wrapped arm that didn't seem to be paining him much at all.

"Need another blanket, then, old man?"

Ed glared at him, but didn't move his arm to hit him. Russell was on his right, and he couldn't very well beat on the younger man without giving away to his guard - who was, in actuality, Vato Falman, and unlikely to say anything - that his right arm was flesh and blood. It was in a long-sleeve shirt under piles of blankets, but it was flesh and blood nonetheless. His left leg, if anyone could see it through the pants and yet more blankets, was the same.

Dalyell had allowed him to go to provide the Prime Minister with information pertaining to a victim of one of the accused, but she had not allowed the armor to go with him. If he got caught, it was on his head. She'd made that clear.

She'd also given him a tiny bag of light yellow, familiar looking fluid that left him almost pain-free without the noxious braincloud, and he didn't need to ask Al if he'd recognized it as well. He'd been staring at his own pair of pills in a paper cup with a shocked look on his face, and she'd indicated they'd been checked and manufactured explicitly for them from Dr. Patterson's notes.

He had almost asked, but thought better of it. And knowing the doc was only a few cells down the hall, he couldn't quite bring himself to ask Winry to take him down there. Not just yet. She'd probably refuse, thinking it would be too upsetting.

And it would be. Too upsetting for Patterson. He was too damn tired to get worked up about anything. Almost too tired to even perform simple alchemy, apparently.

"I bet I could transmute you into a nice one," he said quickly, when he realized he'd been thinking too long. "So what's the verdict, sonny?"

Russ's amused look fell flat. "You feel like every other heart attack survivor I've had the pleasure of treating. A few rounds of treatments can help, the first one already administered, of course."

Of course. He'd slept through it. "Should you be transmuting?" he asked Fletcher, who grinned again.

"Nothing else to do. Besides, the arm's worse than it looks." It looked like it was wrapped in cotton, and he elaborated. "Seriously. Better to heal burns from the inside out. Right, Al?"

Ed glared daggers at his brother, who just held up his hands. "Hey, you said I couldn't do it to you. Didn't say anything about helping Russ with other people."

Winry was curled up on the cot beside his brother, watching them all with a happy but distracted look. She'd been thrilled that they'd asked her down to visit Fletcher, mainly because Al said he was certain Fletcher was Fletcher and there would be no risk of heartache to her. And she'd made Falman let her in the cell so she could properly hug the alchemist that had helped her make automail, and there had been tears all around. Now she seemed content to listen to them, despite the topic of conversation, and flashed him a quick smile when she caught him staring.

He still couldn't believe she'd let Al perform alchemy on him. Maybe she hadn't been in the room at the time. He almost wished she'd ask to use the powder room so he could try to talk the Tringums into taking care of Aunt Pinako, but the chances of a prison having a ladies room worth using was nil.

Besides. She'd have to go past that row of occupied cells again. Not even he was looking forward to that.

"If I didn't say it before, I've got a meeting with the bastard right after this, and I'll kick his ass for you if you want."

"Get in line, Ed."

Fletcher gave his brother a slightly reproachful look. "It's my own fault for not defending myself," he said, a little more seriously. "Don't be mad at him for this. I'm not." He waved the arm around. "I'm lucky he didn't do worse."

That was probably more true than the younger Tringum realized. Roy had taken a hell of a risk. "He's lucky you didn't do worse," Ed grumbled, but without heat. "I'm pretty sure any of us could take him in a fair fight."

Fletcher opened his mouth, then shook his head, while Russ got a glassy look in his eyes. "Not that I've put any thought into it, but you realize all it would take is-"

Ed laughed outright when Falman cleared his throat, relieved to hear other laughter reverberating with his. He was actually glad the entire thing had been settled before he'd even been back in Central. It was a hell of a lot better to hear that Fletch was alive and well than hear there was a homunculus running around.

But some of the things he'd heard had been less than pleasant. "So, I assume he's been down here and talked to you?"

Fletcher sobered and nodded. "Yeah. I told him . . . everything I remember." Which Al had told him, sometime late yesterday afternoon. Then Fletcher seemed to square his resolve. "Can you tell if my soul has ever been unattached?"

Edward regarded the man. He still thought of Fletcher as a sweet little kid, though half the time, when he wasn't being an ass, he thought of Al the same way. Sometimes it was hard to remember that this sweet little kid was a genius, and an accomplished alchemist. One who knew nearly as much about the Gate as they did, now. One who had seen it more than once.

One who knew enough to ask.

"Hard to tell," he hedged. He knew where the question was going, and Al's fears that Sorn had actually transmuted a Philosopher's Stone before they had. That he'd used it, and had to use it, because Fletch had actually died. "You say you remember the Gate closing, though, right?"

Fletcher hesitated, then nodded. "They seemed happy to see me," he murmured. "It felt like they recognized me."

They might've. Ed glanced toward Al, who had wrapped his arm around Winry's shoulder. She looked far less happy with the conversation than she had before, and he knew it was an uncomfortably close subject for her at the moment. Talking about death, and what Fletcher had seen. "Al, when . . . you were there, did-"

He shook his head. "Reacted differently to everyone. Or I guess everyone reacted differently to it. People that tried to run away got grabbed much faster, people who just walked in were never touched." He hesitated. "Fletch, when you were telling us about it, you said that you heard voices."

Fletcher gave Al a very odd look indeed, but he answered. "They were laughing, and talking to me. I don't know if I didn't know the language, or I did then and I don't remember it anymore, or if I could even make it out . . ." He shook his head, and looked back towards Ed. "Does that mean anything?"

Nothing good. And he knew damn well that he'd hated it when sensei had known things about the Gate and not told him, so he asked the question in front of all of them. "You thinking what I'm thinking, Al?"

His brother thinned his lips. "If it has to do with hanging on to him for a reason, yeah."

And it did. The Gate had seen him before - when he'd come to get something it had taken. He'd been with others who had done the same thing, so it stood to reason that someone would come for him. Someone who had something to trade, instead of someone demanding fair trade.

Instead of passing through as he should have, something held him up, and before Sorn got there.

He sighed. "And you don't remember anything after the doors shut?"

Fletcher shook his head mutely. Russ, on the other hand, was getting more agitated by the second. "What are you saying-"

"We're saying that either the Gate took something from him and he hasn't realized it yet, or the Gate did recognize him, and held onto him because it knew one of us would come for him." And having a personal relationship with the Gate like that, Ed could tell them from experience, was not a good thing.

"And . . . what? It can take him back?"

Ed shook his head quickly. "No. His soul's on there tight, Sorn didn't bind it with an array. He actually did it properly." Which was surprising, actually. Attaching a soul, he'd found, was a good deal of sensing and instinct and not very related to math and equations. "Which is more than you say he did for Fletch's body."

Russell's expression was dark. "There wasn't much damage left by the time I got to him. And more important things to work on."

Like his arm.

Ed nodded. Well, unless the kid manned up and admitted to using a Stone, or the Gate had taken something besides tissue, some part of Fletcher's mind or soul, they'd probably never really know what happened. "And Sorn hasn't said anything?"

Russ shook his head. "Not a word. If he doesn't start talking soon . . ." He didn't finish the sentence, but they were all thinking it. If he didn't start talking soon, the fact he was a 'whelp' wasn't going to mean much here at all.

"Well, then wheel me over." Sorn had made some admittances, maybe he could make a few more. Of course, if Al was right, the kid was facing the truth that he'd murdered forty innocent people, and even though he'd used them to bring someone back from the very edge, it was still murder. Something he'd told himself at the time, probably, would never happen, because he'd still believed he could go back in time.

Hell. He might still believe it.

Falman cleared his throat again, and Ed tried to give him an irritated look over his shoulder. His neck, shoulders, and back protested dully, and he gave up and relaxed. "You wanted to add something, first lieutenant?"

Vato's voice was quite innocent when he replied. "Franklin Sorn is unavailable for questioning per General Hakuro's orders."

Ed mulled that over for a minute. "So?"

"So if we transmute our way in there he'll accuse us of trying to break the kid out and arrest us," Russ grumbled. "I don't like the idea of what he'll do to Sorn any better than you do, but I've already had this conversation. And all I wanted to do was thank him." It was a bit too bitter to be true. More like interrogate him to find out what he'd done to Fletcher and why he'd bothered.

"You had a conversation with Hakuro?"

Russ's expression was quite unpleasant. "Can he still walk?"

Al's eyebrows shot for his hairline. "Yeah, okay, stupid question."

The general atmosphere seemed to get a bit heavier as everyone withdrew into their thoughts, and Edward was quite irritated to find himself being jostled out of the elevator.

More irritated at having been woken up than the fact that he'd fucking drifted off. _Again._

"-should really do it to Mustang," Al murmured to Winry. "I've been wanting to do that for years."

"Fall asleep while he's going on and on about some inane bullshit?" he mumbled, just to see if his suddenly joining the conversation would surprise them.

"Exactly," Al confirmed, tone positively nasty.

Ed gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "Did we say goodbye to the Tringums?"

"Some of us did," Winry responded, turning his wheelchair for the main hall. "They said they expect Fletcher to be released fairly soon, and they'll come visit you next time."

Good. Tringums in the hospital meant that much closer to Pinako. All he had to do was get rid of Dalyell and Ackernath. Even if Pinako was angry at him, that was okay. So long as she didn't take it out on Russ or Fletch -

Which she would. Cranky old bat. Maybe they could give her something.

Ed blinked, then shook his head. Somehow drugging Aunt Pinako was just . . . just wrong, somehow. Disrespectful. Even though she would and had done it to him faster than he could blink when he was getting the automail.

Of course, he'd been being a stupid stubborn kid. Which wasn't unlike the way _she_ was being.

"Nii-san?"

He rolled his head on his shoulders until he found his brother, walking easily beside the wheelchair. Someone had gotten himself discharged that morning, adding salt to the wound, and despite the sling apparently his shoulder was much better.

"Just not looking forward to giving the bastard a report right now." He really wasn't sure what to say. He'd fucked up. He was supposed to make the kid disappear and not get caught, and he hadn't done either. If someone didn't transmute Franklin and Patterson the hell out of there, he wasn't sure how Mustang could protect them. Fake their deaths, like Havoc had faked his?

Very Bradley thing to do. Tucker came immediately to mind.

Of course, if Sorn hadn't found that human transmutation circle, he probably wouldn't have been able to save Fletch. It was a confusing hodgepodge that made his head hurt, and he tried to ignore the curious stares he was getting as Winry rolled him effortlessly toward the Prime Minister's offices.

Goodman watched them enter, not stopping them to examine the wheelchair like he would have expected, and it only belatedly occurred to him that there was likely a very good reason for that that included not giving away his lack of automail to the most important people in Amestris. Colonel Hawkeye was crossing the lobby, having just taken a report from Challiel, and she glanced up coolly.

"Good afternoon," she greeted them, then gave them a brief smile. "Ms. Rockbell, what a pleasant surprise."

"Hi," Winry replied, the smile evident in her voice. A way out, Ed realized, and he leaned his head back until he'd butted her in the stomach.

"I think Al can handle pushing me around for a while. He's been doing it since he was four." His brother, oddly, didn't smile or nod. "I promise I won't leave you with her too long."

Winry gave him a look that was withering, even upside-down. "The colonel is pleasant and civilized, unlike present company, and if she has the time, I would love to share a cup of tea with her."

Shortly he was handed off to Alphonse, who was uncharacteristically silent, and they both watched Winry disappear into the colonel's office. Sheska had also poked her head around the corner, apparently at their voices, and she gave them both a hasty salute before peeking curiously into Hawkeye's office. Ed gave her a smile.

"She misses you too," he said, and Sheska gave a guilty start.

"Oh, I was just making sure I'd heard her, sir, I'll just stop by a moment-"

Good thing Win didn't know Challiel, or all Mustang's female staff would be having a tea party.

He waved to her, letting Al propel him towards the Prime Minister's door, and it opened as if by magic to show them Brooks. His gaze was tangible as it swept them up and down, and then he stepped aside. Neither said anything to him, and Al pushed him towards the desk at the far end of the room, where the Prime Minister was standing. His hands were empty despite the paperwork there, and he was surveying it as if he had no idea where to even start. His first glance didn't seem to really recognize them, but the second take lingered far longer.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them, and Al put the wheelchair in park between the two chairs. Ed fiddled with one of the blankets. He couldn't even shake the man's hand without showing off his shoulder, and he wasn't in the mood to try to pile them all on properly again.

In fact, he recognized that he was also comfortable, and moving them might make him cold. The last thing he wanted to do was start shivering. Al was probably unhappy enough at the length of the current excursion. And just because Al'd been discharged didn't mean Dr. Dalyell couldn't still make his life miserable.

"This couldn't wait?" Ed asked bluntly, and Roy gave him a rare smile.

"I assume your assessment of Fletcher Tringum agreed with your brother's?"

He shrugged. "Al's the expert, not me." Then he lowered his voice, just out of habit. "Sorn did a good job."

Mustang paused a moment, clearly weighing something. "As relieved as I am to hear that, it's not actually why I called you here." He made no move to kick Al out, and after a moment he seemed to come to some sort of decision, and leaned on an empty corner of his desk.

"As I'm sure you're aware, you arrived in West City without automail." Trust the bastard to get right to the point. "Olivier and Alex Armstrong took great pains to hide this from the men, as well as Havoc and Breda during your transport to Central." He let that hang in the air a moment, but Ed didn't see a need to interject, and after a moment he continued.

"If you wanted to keep the armor, you conceivably could."

Edward blinked at him, taken aback. " . . . and why . . ."

And then it clicked.

Mustang was watching him carefully. "It is common belief among the Cretians that you died. They did execute you, after all. It was also initially reported to us that your body had arrived in West. Alphonse Elric was nowhere to be seen at the time. " and Roy gave his brother a considering look. "It will also be common knowledge tomorrow if it is not already that Franklin Sorn stands accused of attempted human transmutation."

He was giving him an out. A permanent out with the armor.

"The Stone we supposedly took from Craege Irving."

Roy shrugged. "I thought you should consider it. I doubt an excuse will come again in your lifetime."

Whether that was a crack about how close he'd cut it this time or a warning that his shenanigans would not be tolerated further was up in the air.

"Do you really want to say that you've used it if the Cretians haven't capitulated yet?"

"I have never performed human transmutation," he replied smoothly. "Though I believe if I had had an amplifier in my possession at the time I gave you your orders, I would have been inclined to give it to you as well. If you were then in possession of said amplifier and were grievously injured on the battlefield, I don't doubt that in that state you might surpass healing alchemy and accidentally rebuild your lost limbs."

Which would put him right back where he was now, a walking admittance of human transmutation. "I doubt Parliament will be any happier about it if it's accidental."

Mustang shrugged. "You're the liar, Edward. I'm sure you can come up with something if you put your mind to it."

He bristled before he could stop himself, though he had no energy to get really pissed off. "You want my report or not?"

Roy watched him, really looked at him for such a long time it started to make him feel uncomfortable. Even though he knew damn well it was just Mustang's way of getting him to admit his own uncertainties, and hell, he'd used it on Franklin down in the dirt tunnels, he still felt like squirming.

He didn't, however, give in, and eventually Roy modulated his gaze. "Is there anything you can tell me I don't already know?"

Probably not. "Sorn transmutes without an array."

Roy inclined his head. "I guessed he might. He's bound in an alchemist's chair. I doubt he will escape."

Edward chewed carefully on those seemingly innocent words. "Fletch feels the same way I do. Kid was used. And so was Patterson."

Mustang stood suddenly, looping around to the proper side of his desk. "Anything else?"

No. "Is Havoc around?"

Roy glanced at one of the piles on his desk. "He's taken leave."

Dammit. "I'm sorry. I really thought I had it."

. . . whoops. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

Behind him, he heard Al's breathing still, and Mustang looked up. Again with the searching eye, but much less intense. "Your performance of your duties was acceptable. Your current state is not. Do not return from any future missions in such poor shape again."

If he'd wanted to be an ass, he would have said that Roy was telling him to just finish dying and spare them all the drama, or telling him he wasn't going to luck out like this again. But he was too tired to be an ass, and he was frankly floored that Roy would speak so openly, particularly in front of Al.

"Think on my offer," he said dismissively, turning back to his desk and surveying it for a likely point of entry. "Will you need transportation back to the HQ hospital?"

"We can handle it," Al replied, and withdrew the wheelchair. They were back out in the main offices before Ed leaned his head back and glanced up at his brother.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he answered, giving him a quick smile. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"The fact that we've been out longer than three hours. We might be better off trying to get you to the border than trying to sneak by Dr. Dalyell."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Oooo . . . no, wait. No plot. Just filler. Ed now has an out with the automail, but he doesn't seem too happy about it. Mustang is trapped between a rock and a hard place both with Creta and with the 'suspects.' Sorn and Patterson are in deep trouble, and we haven't seen the last of Pinako.

Standard typo disclaimer applies. And I see some of you are already taking bets on the chapter numbers. Remember, that includes just fic, not any notes I might post. (To give you an idea, my notes file is currently 65 pages in length. Not kidding. Almost all of it is rewritten scenes.)


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

She barely managed to catch the bars in the small, high window, stopping the door only an inch from a deafening clang against concrete, and the corporal cringed. Not in the expectation of the crash, she realized, but the absence.

He'd thrown the door open on purpose. He was trying to warn someone.

Which meant the other two guards _were_ in with the suspect.

Colonel Riza Hawkeye brushed past him without another word, now able to hear the faint echoes of a struggle. Though her standard uniform would have included heels that would have given her away, because of the Drachman presence in the building she had switched to her standard uniform, and the leather boots made almost no sound as she crossed the staging room. She glanced through the second window to get their positions even as she threw it open, and all three of the men in the cell jumped as it slammed satisfyingly against the concrete behind it.

She left her hand on her firearm but did not draw. Two startled soldiers partially obscured her view of the suspect, but she could see well that his hands were still bound to the chair, and hanging onto the armrests with enough strength that his fingers were white.

Silently she took note of each detail, the tray of food in the sergeant's hands, the spattering of it on the floor and on the suspect, the position of the second corporal as he hastened to attention. Only the suspect's harsh coughs and gasps were audible, echoing around them. She stepped more fully into the room, noting the cell door was still open; they hadn't even bothered to lock themselves in.

Not that such a misdemeanor really meant anything, at this point.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The sergeant, the ranking guard, saluted sharply. "We were feeding the suspect, colonel ma'am!"

The corporal was still hiding the main body of the suspect, and she moved far enough to the door of the cell to get a good look at him. Franklin Sorn had his head bowed, still obviously choking, and more food clung to his hair. There was a wide, vivid red stripe across the skin of his forehead, and as he recovered himself and glanced her way, she saw another one disappearing beneath his jaw.

Then his eyes slid away from her, back to his lap, and he tried to muffle his coughing.

"The suspect has not eaten since being taken into custody, ma'am. Major General Tash ordered he be encourage-"

"The protocol for force-feeding of suspects and prisoners states it is to be performed only under the supervision of a base doctor," she interrupted flatly. "I do not see one present." She cut her eyes to the other guard. "You are out of uniform, corporal."

He floundered for a moment under her glare before he realized his mistake, and then hurriedly secured his trousers properly.

"You will clean up and present yourselves to General Hakuro's office immediately, where you will explain your actions directly to him." Both soldiers blanched, but she cut off any protest with a look. "If you are not in his offices in five minutes, I will have you charged with desertion and order you shot on sight. Dismissed."

Both men saluted her, and she took several steps back, giving them a wide berth as they left the cell and closed it. She looked over Sorn again for blood or more serious injuries, but there didn't seem to be any visible. He wouldn't look at her, so it was hard to tell exactly what had happened, but his hands were still securely bound to the chair and it did not appear damaged. It would hold him for the few moments she had to leave him unsupervised.

Leaving her hand on her firearm, she followed the two guards to the staging room, where the first corporal - she'd have him charged as an accessory at minimum for the hassle he'd given her - was standing at attention, white-faced. She turned on him immediately. "You overheard my orders?"

"Yes, colonel ma'am!"

The sergeant glanced around before gingerly setting the messy tray of mashed potatoes and salisbury steak on the table, and he laid the cell keys next to it. The first corporal got the idea and placed the main door keys beside them. Then he turned to her.

"Begging the colonel's pardon for speaking out of turn, ma'am, but I beg you not-"

"Silence!" She rounded on him so quickly he took a step back. "You did not receive permission to speak, corporal. Report to General Hakuro immediately. You can beg him for clemency." Not that there would be any to be had. By sending them to Hakuro she was likely sending them to a dishonorable discharge and a ten year imprisonment. If they were lucky.

Unfortunately, by sending them to him Hakuro would be alerted to where she was, and probably what she was hoping to do. With any luck these three would provide enough of a distraction to buy her adequate time.

The corporal saluted again, though she clearly saw the fury and fear in his eyes, and then turned forty-five degrees to the sergeant, who lined them up and led the march down the hallway. She followed them to Blane's cell, where the sergeant there snapped to attention.

"Call for an approved physician, and escort them to Franklin Sorn's cell as soon as they have arrived. Also notify the general's office that three soldiers are en route to deliver an update on suspect Franklin Sorn in person."

He'd probably overheard her yelling, she thought with a bit of chagrin, because his salute was crisp and clean. "Yes, colonel ma'am!" He was after the three double-time, not to follow them but to use the phone, and she turned her back on them, returning to the cell and closing the main door behind her.

Hawkeye took a deep, silent breath and re-secured the clasp on her firearm holster. Then she glanced over the table, pocketing the cell and door keys before looking over the food tray again. It was evidence and she left it intact, continuing on to the cell.

She should have ordered another meal for the boy. It could be done after the physician had been to see him.

If he would ever trust the food after this.

Ironically, it was lack of trust that had led her to Sorn, and the memory of a certain former lieutenant colonel's lack of trust of his own chain of command that had given her the first clue. It had been shocking enough to her, when it happened, that she'd never forgotten it.

They had been standing in an alley to isolate the number of ears that might overhear, and using the relative safety of public, then-Major Alex Armstrong had been ordered to report to then-Lieutenant Colonel Mustang on updates to Hughes' pending murder investigation. It had been all she could do to keep silent when Mustang had ordered Armstrong to reveal the parties thought responsible for the murder and the major had refused.

When Armstrong had gone, she had protested, but Mustang had calmly informed her that Armstrong had told him everything he'd needed to know, and more. And while it hadn't been the same situation in this case, the longer that corporal stood literally in the jamb of the cell doorway, the more certain she'd become. He hadn't been stalling her over politics alone.

And this wasn't politics. This was simply soldiers, handed the man that had threatened their leader. To General Hakuro, this would be another Rose.

Hawkeye played the conversation back in her head, checking all bases. The corporal had looked uncomfortable, but his voice had been admirably determined when he replied. "I cannot let you pass, ma'am!"

She'd retrieved the next card Mustang had played from her memory. "You have received a direct order from a superior officer to allow access to a suspect for an interrogation, corporal."

Again he'd faltered. And she would still be quite surprised if Hakuro had specifically singled her out as an officer disallowed to interrogate the suspects, considering he hadn't put up much of a fight when she directly interfered with his interrogation of Fletcher Tringum. Due to the general's new business arrangement with Mustang, which granted was going to dissolve the moment the Cretian issue was put to bed, she had a great deal more rein than she normally did as Mustang's chief of security.

A card she could flash whenever she wanted to get access to whatever she wanted. No one could deny that Franklin Sorn was a danger to the Prime Minister, regardless of Hakuro's preemptive orders.

"I have been ordered not to allow anyone access without explicit permission from Major General Tash, colonel ma'am!"

"By order of General Hakuro?"

The guard had looked unsure, but could find no reason not to answer the question. "Yes ma'am!"

"Then secure my permission."

Almost comically, the corporal had leaned slightly out of the doorjamb he was standing in to glance about fifty yards down the hall, where a red metal phone hung innocently on stained block concrete. He had swallowed around what sounded like a case of dry throat. "I cannot!"

That was when she'd realized the problem was not a political one. "You cannot use a phone, corporal?"

"I have been ordered not to leave my post, colonel ma'am!"

Hawkeye had glanced past the shorter man, through the barred window of the door into the staging room. Unlike Fletcher Tringum's, which had been modified by his brother, she couldn't see past it to the actual cells, but she had been able to see enough to notice the low table in the room was unoccupied. "As were the other two guards assigned to Franklin Sorn?"

The corporal had stiffened. "I cannot leave my post, Colonel!"

"Answer the question, corporal. Was your order to remain at your post a direct or general order?" The two of them missing could have meant anything, it didn't mean they were with the suspect, but alarm had started creeping up her spine with its tiny needle fingers and she'd risked it. To hell with the politics - her position was nearly as stable as Mustang's. "As Chief of Security for the Prime Minister, I outrank General Hakuro in matters relating to the safety of the Prime Minister. Stand aside."

The corporal's thoughts had gone scurrying right across his face, but when no further protests came to his mind he had saluted her, spun on his heels, and unlocked the outer cell door. She'd stepped forward smoothly, experience making sure she was right behind him in case he went for a weapon, and she'd seen it in the position of his shoulder just before he'd thrown the door wide open.

There was nothing in that story that implicated her in anything. Even if they elaborated or left out something, she could candidly reveal the entire truth and not endanger anything Mustang was trying to do.

After all, Franklin Sorn _was_ a threat. And she was Mustang's Chief of Security. There was no reason she shouldn't be permitted to interview the suspect, regardless of not receiving any orders to do so.

Sorn was still exactly where she'd left him, eyes downcast but otherwise very much as he'd appeared to her the last several times she'd seen him. A bit thinner, certainly, and his red curls were drooping and oily without so much as a shower since his incarceration in Central. It was too dangerous to let him out of the chair for very long, especially with Edward Elric confirming that he could now complete an alchemic reaction without an array.

The whole of Central City was within this boy's reach.

On closer inspection, Riza saw a few tears still quivered along his jaw, but they seemed to have been from the choking, because there were none on his cheeks. His hands had relaxed on the steel-clad armrests, now quite red as blood returned to them, and as far as she could tell he wasn't even shaking. His breathing was soft and even.

The marks on his forehead and jaw hadn't faded, however, and looked even more angry now that they'd had the freedom to become inflamed. His blue prisoner's uniform was spattered with bits of mashed potatoes but still basically in one piece, and there were no other visible marks on him.

She unlocked the cell, stepping inside before pulling it closed behind her. It was inadvisable to take a firearm into a cell with a suspect, but he could probably transmute a better gun than she was currently carrying anyway. He didn't react at all to her, even when she knelt in front of him in an effort to catch his eyes.

They were open, and she watched his irises contract as he focused on her. But he said nothing, and all too soon she realized she no longer had his attention. The eyes were diverted inward again, actively searching his knees for something. His adam's apple bobbed, but he made no sound.

Processing? Or actively distancing himself?

"I've summoned a physician," she murmured, in what she hoped was a reassuring voice, and resisted the urge to put a hand on his knee. Probably the very last thing he wanted to be was touched right now. "On behalf of the military, I apologize. Nothing like this will happen again."

No response. She might as well have been talking to a mannequin.

Hawkeye held back a sigh, studying his face closely. His eyes were twitching slightly back and forth, which the reports had said was normal. He was present, and as far as Major General Tash could tell he was actively resisting their attempts at interrogation. He called it willful, that the boy was employing a well-known tactic that would keep his mind occupied so he could better ignore what was happening to his body.

Remarkably convincing, if she hadn't known a certain other willful boy.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Nothing.

"Is there anything you need?" A change of uniform came immediately to mind, maybe a few hours to sleep in a real bed instead of being held upright in the chair if they could risk it-

"A sheet of paper." His eyes were still watching something she couldn't see, and his voice was hoarse and fighting to remain steady. "And a pen."

Hawkeye acted as though it was normal that they were speaking, that he was speaking at all. "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

He shook his head slightly, the limp curls brushing his forehead. "Then no," he said simply, then ducked his face away from her.

She watched him closely for a moment, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, and for the first time since she'd entered the cell he seemed to be looking at the floor instead of through it. She knew full well that Tash hadn't done anything to the boy besides keep him in the chair and threaten him with legal proceedings, being locked up for the rest of his life and how terrible prison would be for a State Alchemist, and a young one at that. But it was a lesson that had obviously been brought home by his guards, authorized or not. A little kindness from her could go a long way.

It had with Edward.

"I'm afraid you'd draw an array," she explained patiently. "I know you don't actually need to, but it's too much of a risk. You haven't given me anything to make me trust you."

"I know," he said, with a voice rusty from disuse and far too old for the rest of him. He swallowed, then coughed half-heartedly, but he didn't speak again.

Riza contemplated her options for a moment, still watching him. He was trembling again, she could see, ever so slightly, and obviously struggling to appear uncaring. He didn't shift or fidget in the chair, outside of refusing to look at her he wasn't really responding much at all. But he was talking, and she could probably keep him talking until the doctor showed up. Maybe during the checkup as well.

"I suppose I might be more inclined if you told me what it was for," she considered out loud. "Or if I believed that you wouldn't use it to try to transmute me or my command."

He turned his head further from her. ". . . you wouldn't even if I did."

"Is that a fact?"

"You're the Prime Minister's security chief," he said flatly. The inflection seemed to indicate he would go on, but he fell silent again.

He had a good point. "If you really wanted to kill him, I would have expected you to make a better effort." Considering how many meetings he'd had with Mustang as he'd tried to piece together the Elric's research, he could have requested and probably been granted a private audience any time he'd wanted one. He'd given the assassins information, true, but as well as he knew the building and Mustang, he could have arranged things more in favor of the assassins. All he'd needed was the threat, not the assassination itself.

It was an incredibly thin defense, but it was the best one they could come up with. Unless Franklin gave them something else, there was no way out for him.

Sorn's toes suddenly curled into the concrete and his breathing caught. She didn't acknowledge his discomfort, unable to tell the source of it, and she remained exactly where she was until he spoke again. "I . . . I just need a little bit of paper."

"Why."

His next words were too muttered to hear.

"What do you want to write?" He wasn't acting like someone who needed to confess, and even if he said it she wasn't going to buy it.

" . . . I can't . . . in my head." It was a poor explanation and he seemed to realize it, because he finally looked up at her, albeit a little sideways. "I can't keep the equations straight anymore."

"That's to be expected," she told him brusquely. "You haven't eaten or slept in days. Higher brain function and concentration fade quickly in these circumstances." He blinked at her, completely taken aback, and she gave him a small frown. "You still want to make a Stone?"

Franklin turned his face away again, and she realized that she'd never seen him do that before today. "I . . ." he started in a low voice, and then he shook his head. "I have to fix it."

She wasn't really sure how much current information Tash had allowed Franklin. That Blane had been captured, that Jannai was safe - assuming Sorn ever knew that it had been threatened at all. And it had to be terrifying to him, as it would have been to either of the Elrics, to find himself completely at the mercy of his enemies without being able to even think clearly.

"What do you have to fix?"

His lips pressed together and she could almost see the mental berating go by. He hadn't meant to tell her that, and despite the fact they were shaking he held them in a thin line and didn't respond.

"Did you talk to Full Metal about it?"

He blinked, then closed his eyes. "If I tell you, will you give me a piece of paper?"

If she put it on his lap she could keep her word while ensuring he couldn't do anything with it. Surely he had to know that, or not expect her to agree. "That seems fair."

She was right; his eyes flew open though he didn't look back up at her, and then he seemed to catch on. "And let me write on it?"

"You'd have to tell me something else for that privilege," she informed him coolly. "It's quite a risk. Do you have any information of equal value to trade?"

He hesitated. "Y-yes."

That didn't sound good. "Very well." She reached smoothly into her jacket, withdrawing her notation pad unhurriedly. He forgot himself and stared at her in shock as she ripped out a blank sheet of the two by six paper and held it in front of him between two slim fingers. "What do you need to fix?"

Clearly the boy had either never expected her to go that far or felt she would withdraw the paper even if he complied, because he shook his head, almost to himself, and lowered his chin again. His trembling was more pronounced, as was the indecision. She stayed exactly where she was, counting down the seconds. This was certainly a breakthrough, and the doctor or anyone else interrupting now would be a problem, but if she got up to lock the door she was essentially doing the same thing.

"I'm not going to stay here forever," she reminded him, and he shook his head again.

"Why?"

It seemed self-explanatory so she didn't answer him, and after almost a minute he looked up again. Then he wrapped his shaking fingers around the steel armrests. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need information."

"Then yell at me!" It was a shout itself, but her military career had trained her long ago from reacting to sudden volume. It wasn't meant to startle her; in the next moment a large tear tumbled down the boy's cheek, and he hid his face from her again. He held his breath as long as he could, but when he let it out a sob escaped with it. "Hit me! Do something!"

She did nothing at all, and he eventually kicked the legs of the chair - as much as he could with bound ankles - in frustration. "Why did you stop them?! What the hell have I ever done for you?"

"You acted to defend Central City against Craege Irving," she answered levelly. "You might have done so because you suspected he had an amplifier, but you still risked your life to stop a threat to the city."

He made a disdainful noise, but the tears trickling steadily down his face lessened its sting significantly. ". . . you could have let them finish."

"What they were doing was wrong." Obviously someone was feeling quite aggressively sorry for himself. Or he'd learned it from watching Full Metal. "I am a citizen of the country and a member of the military. Our actions are bound by laws." She didn't make the obvious correlation to alchemy, but he seemed to hear it all the same, because suddenly he was looking her straight in the eye.

"I can't fix it like this!" he cried, in a quiet wail. "I can, I know I can, I just need a piece of paper- I j-just need to do the math-"

She softened her tone, just a little. "Franklin . . . there are some things that can't be fixed."

"No!" Absolute denial. "No, it can work, it has to work, I can make it work!"

Riza hesitated. A misstep now . . . "Bringing your parents back?"

He looked away, then, a little wild-eyed. "I . . . I killed them." His voice was thick. "It didn't matter because they wouldn't die, but if I can't fix this then they did! Don't you understand?"

She shook her head, letting gentle confusion show. "You didn't kill your parents, Franklin. Avram Blane did-"

He shook his head, spattering his lap with uniform-staining tears. "No, it was me, it was me," he moaned. "I did it. I didn't think it mattered, so I condensed them. When I woke up, there was only one left, and -" He choked on another sob, then moaned again and curled over himself as best he could. "I killed them," he repeated in disbelief. "I can't undo it."

This time she didn't hesitate. "Who did you kill, Franklin?"

A shudder ran through him. ". . . I don't even know. I don't even know their names." He struggled with the tears, still trying vainly to keep them back. "They were just . . . they were nobodies. No one would miss them." He said it bitterly, as if repeating someone's words back to them. "And I did it. I didn't even think t-twice about it."

"You condensed them?" Even without a background in alchemy, she didn't need to ask what that meant.

He nodded, head still bowed to his chest. "I m-made a Philosopher's Stone. And he-he recognized the array-" It broke off in a muffled cry of disbelief, as another piece of the puzzle seemed to click for him. "Oh, god, he was right," he breathed after a moment. "He was right."

She almost started writing on the piece of paper she was still offering him, just to keep the questions straight in her head. Alphonse had said he'd thought that Franklin might have had a Philosopher's Stone, made from the nomads that had disappeared in Jannai two years ago. That was probably what he was referring to, but who was the 'he'? "And you used that Stone to revive Fletcher Tringum?"

Sorn swallowed another sob and nodded, then stopped in surprise. "How . . ?"

So he had gotten no news at all from Tash. Hawkeye mentally chewed on whether or not to take that advantage from the major general. What she was hearing was not helping Franklin's case at all. "Fletcher doesn't remember seeing one, but he doesn't seem to think what you had done would have been possible without one."

Sorn stared up at her from beneath tear-soaked lashes. "Fletcher . . . you found him?"

She shook her head slowly, hoping the motion would keep his attention. "He found us. He stopped Timothy Patterson from killing the Prime Minister."

Franklin looked stunned, and hiccupped. "He what?"

"I assume that wasn't part of the plan?"

"What h-happened?"

She hated to upset him again when he was just starting to calm down, but there was a more pressing question she needed answers to. "You said that 'he' was right, 'he' recognized the array, but you obviously weren't referring to Blane. Who was right?"

She might as well have pulled her firearm and shot him - his expression couldn't have reflected more pain. "I . . . it doesn't . . . m-matter now-" Then his face crumpled and he bent at the waist as far as his restraints would allow. He managed a ragged gasp that seemed to gag him, and quite suddenly she found herself kneeling in front of him, pulling his head onto her shoulder.

He sobbed into her uniform so hard it shook the alchemist's chair. Franklin was trying to speak but quite unable, and she only caught a word here and there as everything she needed to know poured out of him. She stroked his hair, glaring warningly at the blue-clad sergeant that was suddenly escorting the doctor in, exactly as she'd ordered. The sergeant backed off, but the doctor quietly took a seat, giving her a questioning look.

_Is he alright?_

She frowned at him silently over Franklin's shaking back, but he seemed to get the picture, because he said nothing. Sorn was oblivious and if anything his cries were growing more frantic, not less. And she had a feeling she already knew who he was talking about. He hadn't said that the mysterious 'he' had given him the array, or seen the array. He'd said recognize. And there weren't many people that would recognize a human transmutation array.

"What was Edward right about?"

Franklin buried his face in her shoulderpad, shaking and choking on the fabric. His answer was still badly muffled; all she made out was 'speed' and 'light' and 'relativity' and then Franklin wailed in fresh distress, and she reflexively tightened her arms around him.

"Breathe," she soothed, but he shook his head against her uniform, turning towards her so he could speak.

"I-I-he was right! I j-just sat there. . . he was there bec-cause of me and I just s-sat there-"

So he was referring to Edward's execution.

Franklin didn't realize that Edward Elric was still alive.

Hawkeye sighed, pulling the sobbing teen as close to her as she could as he struggled with the enormity of what he'd done. He had transmuted a Philosopher's Stone and thus by definition committed mass murder. He had performed human transmutation. He had all but admitted to the plot to threaten if not kill Mustang, and obviously he'd gotten as far as drawing the array for the Cretians before Edward had happened upon him. Heymans had been more forthcoming than Jean's report, but both said they'd heard from other soldiers while undercover that the two alchemists had single-handedly destroyed the forward guard, and held off the first wave for a surprising amount of time before faking their own deaths in an artillery attack. An enemy alchemist had insisted that their bodies be located to get the watches as proof, and they'd been found hiding in an underground chamber.

Plenty of time for them to chat. Plenty of time for Edward to try to talk Sorn out of it.

Only it really hadn't sunk in for the boy, not until now.

And there was really only one more question to ask. She did it firmly. "Do you still believe you can go back in time?"

He flinched in her grasp and she loosened her arms - she didn't want him to feel trapped. He interpreted that as a rejection, because he pulled away, his face almost as red as the mark under his jaw. He slumped back against the chair, exhausted and heartbroken, and his lips were trembling.

"You don't need this paper anymore, do you." She was so close to him now that even if he looked down she could still see his eyes, and while the paper in her hand was badly crumpled from holding him, she could see him eyeing it. Then his face twisted up in revulsion, and he turned away to face the bars - and to see the doctor. He took one look at the man before turning back to his lap - and to her.

"N-no," he whispered, and turned for the back wall instead of facing her. "I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

She patted his knee, forcing her own aching joints to stand. "I know," she told him sincerely before she crossed to the cell door. The doctor stood as well, and as soon as she'd unlocked the cell he entered. Franklin's sobs were much less pronounced now, the storm all but passed, and the doctor replaced her, crouching down to the boy's level. He flinched at the man's touch and the doctor didn't miss it. Nor did he acknowledge it.

"Now then, young man, how about you just take a few minutes to calm down while the colonel calls a few friends in with us?"

It was a gentle way to let Sorn know there would soon be company, and a request for her to replace the soldiers she'd dismissed. The two of them were not equipped to handle an alchemist out of the chair, but she was fairly sure she could have released the boy right now and the only thing Sorn would have done was curl up in the corner.

She had all the information she needed, and Riza gave the doctor a grateful nod and proceeded into the staging room. She'd have to tell Tash what she'd given him, but she didn't think it was going to be an issue. Franklin would probably tell them everything, now. And while she was more certain than ever that he was used - mainly because of the brief mention of Blane - she was now quite sure that he was no longer a danger to Mustang, or to Central.

The way he'd looked at that paper, she wasn't sure he'd ever use alchemy again.

- x -

"As you were."

They both settled into parade rest, and he stared straight ahead, watching in his peripheral vision as the man's hand hovered above the pile for a moment, moving as if by magnetic force to the envelope. He extricated it by its corner, just visible under a modest stack of other innocent-looking documents, and tapped it on the desk to settle the contents.

Knowing General Hakuro, he hadn't forgotten where it was, and the way his fingers played over the lip of the envelope before withdrawing the innards was every bit the teasing gesture it looked. He tried his hardest to appear unworried, but he knew damn well he wouldn't have been ordered back in unless his commanding officer had taken issue with the documents.

The commanding officer that hadn't said a damn word to him, even as they'd waited outside the general's office. The only saving grace about the whole affair was that all three of them had somewhere to be in half an hour.

Hakuro withdrew the contents after an appropriately degrading period of time had elapsed, but rather than toy with them, he laid them flat in the rectangle of writing leather. Two signatures were obviously missing, he could see the white space though he kept his eyes straight ahead.

Somehow being in his dress uniform made this a hell of a lot easier. Must have had to do with the fact he was so damn uncomfortable in it everything else was more normal in relation.

"Colonel Hawkeye did not sign these transfer papers," the general started deliberately. "She tells me she is concerned about the date, and I echo her sentiments. You were not even finished with your last mission before these papers reached West processing."

Jean continued to stare directly over the general's head, where a surprisingly sincere portrait of Hakuro's wife hung, flanked by her grown son and daughter. He supposed there was no need for it to be a complete family portrait, considering the patriarch of the family was sitting just below it, but it was certainly better looking than the general, and it kept his eyes forward and focused.

"She also tells me she would like to retain you under her command."

Of course she did.

"Frankly, I don't blame her," he continued blandly. "You're a capable, obedient officer with more live ops under your belt than almost any other lieutenant colonel currently serving. Over one hundred, in fact, with an extremely high success rate. Your performance on your latest assignment is an obvious reflection of that."

Havoc listened to the words without really understanding them. It had occurred to him a couple days ago that he'd made a terrible mistake, sending in those papers, if only because it allowed the general the excuse to start peeling away trusted subordinates from Mustang. He was obviously still interested in the Prime Minister's seat; Breda had come clean about what he'd done while they'd been on their way to the west border and both had noticed the tail Jean had assumed Hawkeye had put on him.

Last night he'd gotten a call from Heymans, letting him know that the tail, in fact, had not been ordered by Hawkeye. Which was just as well, considering he'd ditched the poor young man at least four times yesterday just for the hell of it. Not like he'd had any secrets.

Just needed to think. And his brain had eventually gotten around to the realization that he'd fucked Mustang.

Which also explained why Hawkeye was so damn pissed at him. She would have been even if he hadn't biffed the shot at Ed.

"I will admit disappointment with your mission report," the general continued. "It is much less detailed than your others have been, historically. I am also concerned about the leave you requested. It's the first time in, what, two years you've taken leave?"

"Three, sir," the colonel corrected promptly.

Hakuro nodded. "That's quite a long time without leave, lieutenant colonel. Is there anything you'd like to add to your report?"

Jean blinked, then glanced at the general in confusion. Where was he going with this . . . ? ". . . sir?"

Hakuro spread out his hands. "Your first year serving in this military saw you stationed in Ishbal towards the end of the conflict. I was there, son, and I know what you saw. Your file says you've seen worse over the years, but you have never requested a leave of absence after a mission. Your report doesn't indicate anything unusual. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"

Havoc stared at him, completely baffled. He almost killed a fellow soldier with friendly fire. It said it in the report as plain as day. "The report is complete, sir."

The general sighed, then glanced at presumably the colonel. "Colonel Hawkeye, is there anything you'd like to add or ask?"

She didn't skip a beat. "Yes, sir. I believe the lieutenant colonel feels he did not accomplish his mission objectives."

Hakuro's eyebrows twitched, and he returned his gaze to him. "Is this true?"

Why the hell were they working together? Why was the general dragging this out? To make it seem closer to protocol, so Mustang couldn't call him on it later? "At the time, sir."

The general stood suddenly, clasping his hands behind him as he started to pace. "Which mission objective did you feel you had failed to achieve?"

"My main objective was the successful extraction of Majors Edward Elric and Franklin Sorn if they should be captured by the enemy, sir."

"But you believed Major Elric would not survive his injuries."

Jean squared his jaw. "Yessir."

"And now that he has, does that change your desire to request a transfer?"

Giving him the option to take it back? Or teasing him? Jean did not glance at the colonel, and she gave him nothing. Dammit. He hesitated too long and the general stopped pacing, fixing him with a stern look.

"It's a simple question, lieutenant colonel. Do you or do you not wish to be transferred?"

It was a simple question, and that was the very reason he didn't trust it. Did he want to go? Leave them all behind? God knew Ed would track him down and let him have it, but not before Al laid him out for fucking up the shot. He hadn't even seen Mustang yet, but Riza was pissed enough for both of them. She'd keep him close because he knew too much, and no matter how much he'd screwed up it didn't change the way he felt about the team.

Mustang had done what he'd said he would. He was on top. He was making changes, and Ishbal hadn't happened again. It had almost cost them Ed, almost cost them Tringum, and Al, and Breda and Armstrong and had cost them men and civilians both. But there was no war.

"No sir."

"That's more like it," the general growled, unclasping his hands and leaning on his desk. "It was a hell of a shot, lieutenant colonel, and I'm sure everyone's glad you took it. Now get over it. Dismissed."

Havoc snapped to attention and saluted out of habit alone, too stunned to protest as the colonel turned and started for the door. The general didn't seem to think he'd done anything extraordinary, though as he took his seat his voice was deceptively casual. "Oh, and colonel?"

She paused and he stopped dead in his tracks as she turned back to the general. "Yes sir?"

"I'll need your testimony next week. Can you prepare a short description suitable to be read before a judge?"

She nodded sharply. "Yes, General."

"That is all."

Something in his brain clicked, and the surreal feeling vanished as though it had never been. She'd just paid for the privilege of keeping him, but what had been the cost?

It wasn't until they were halfway to the Prime Minister's wing that he worked up the courage to ask. "What was that about?"

She was silent for such a long time he decided she wasn't going to speak to him at all, but then the two pages ahead of them entered a conference room, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Sorn's guards took matters into their own hands."

His eyebrows twitched up of their own accord. "How serious?"

Her eye glanced back to the hall, and it was flat and hooded. "Serious enough."

Too bad. She had the self-control not to shoot them, and he was certain they'd have preferred it to whatever Hakuro had planned for them.

The general, as much of an ass as he was, was a family man. He looked at that portrait every day, had a son and daughter of his own. He'd never forgiven himself for the Liore incident and as certainly as he knew Roy would never allow another Ishbal, Jean was certain Hakuro would never allow another Rose.

He'd slapped the girl in front of his men, more to scare the children around her than the woman herself, but he'd planted the seed in the soldier's minds that getting rough with their POWs was condoned by the higher-ups. The woman had returned to her people too traumatized to speak, with a tiny infant that was obviously too pale to have been anything but of Amestrian descent, and suddenly they had themselves a martyr. A martyr that had inspired them to plan the ambush that led over seven thousand Amestrians to their deaths at the hands of Scar, to become ingredients for a Philosopher's Stone.

A small, vicious part of him was glad the kid had finally gotten a taste of how shit like him would traditionally have been treated, but Sorn was just a kid. One could argue Al had caused the same level of thoughtless disaster when he'd invited the Thule invasion And Riza shouldn't have had to walk into something like that.

She also shouldn't have had to use that to buy him out of his own guilt. "How's the kid?"

Riza sighed lightly as they ascended the stairs. "Finally convinced his plan won't work. Jean," and she paused, ". . . no one is angry with you."

Heymans had tried to tell him that, but it had taken a while to sink in. "I screwed up."

"You got them out."

"Getting him out in a casket wasn't part of the plan."

Hawkeye brushed past Goodman as they entered the main office. "Edward asked about you."

Dear god, if he remembered the conversation on the train . . . "Is he coming to the ceremony?"

She shook her head, idly twining a lock of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. "His doctor wouldn't let him. Mustang would like to speak with you."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Sorry for the delay, all, real life crept up in the form of a friend I haven't seen in a long time, who spent the week. And it's spring outside! So, look, nothing too grand . . . Franklin finally broke down, but he didn't give them anything useful. Though really, the entire point of this was pretty much Hakuro redemption. I have never liked the fandom assumption that Hakuro raped Rose, particularly since the first time we see him he's protecting his kids on the train. I like my idea much better.

Standard typo disclaimer applies. And thank you for your wagers - this chapter didn't include everything it was supposed to, so it looks like my original guesstimate was off. Le gasp! Imagine that. )


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Honestly, you should have met this woman. Scared the hell out of me."

He smiled, mostly for Heyman's efforts, and politely averted his eyes as Mustang finished slipping on his dress shirt. His semi-clad appearance lent a casual air to the apparently informal gathering, but Kain Fuery wrapped his fingers around the mug of tea more tightly, unable to chase away the shivers. Challiel must have picked up on how cold he found the offices last time; she'd pressed it into his hands almost as soon as he'd walked in the door, and he was grateful for the warmth.

It was hard to stay warm these days, and he didn't want Mustang to notice.

Breda might or might not have. He was too busy recounting his tales of dealing with Mustang's seamstress, when he'd met her for his Cretian uniform fitting. Kain was sure to smile and nod in all the right places, but his heart wasn't really in it, and he nursed the tea to avoid his friend's eyes.

Heymans didn't usually talk this much unless he was nervous.

The doors opened with no knock, and Fuery jumped slightly in his chair as Colonel Hawkeye entered, flanked by Havoc. Heymans gave her a respectful nod and she returned it, so he did the same. It was clear Mustang wasn't observing normal standards of office, and he was pretty sure it meant everything to follow would be off the record.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to be off the record. On the record was nerve-wracking enough.

Hawkeye gave the Prime Minister's state of half-dress the barest of glances, then deliberately looked at her watch. Roy pretended not to notice, and Havoc came over to the sofa and stiffly took a seat. His greeting was sincere, though, and Kain gave him the brightest smile he could manage.

Wasn't hard to figure out what Havoc might be worried about. And with all of them in their dress uniforms, it was almost impossible to look relaxed anyway.

Mustang was in the process of securing his cufflinks as he approached them, leaning on the armrest of the large wingback chair that had not yet been taken. "I'll make this brief." He glanced up at them as he shook out his sleeve, and all the same intensity that had been there before, in the last meeting, was still present. Despite himself, Fuery shivered again.

Here it comes.

"All four of you are privy to information regarding the recent activity that has not been made available to the military or Parliament at large." He made eye contact with each of them, and Fuery did his best to appear curious. It seemed like the Prime Minister's eye lingered on him slightly longer than the others, but he continued as if nothing was amiss. "Tomorrow Patterson, Sorn, and Blane are going on trial. If convicted, the military will pursue the death penalty."

Fuery blinked, waiting for him to go on, but instead he frowned at them and straightened, heading back to his desk presumably for his dress jacket. "Colonel."

"Did any of you see or hear anything that is not included in your reports?"

Kain shifted, taking another sip of his tea so that she'd stop looking his way. He'd heard all the radio traffic, including some he was pretty sure was in code from two citizens inside West City, but he'd already flagged that as possible intercepted intel. As far as he knew there was no link to either of the citizens and the suspects, but of course Sheska would be tracking that down. He'd heard all the phone conversations between West and Central HQ, to ensure the lines weren't being tapped, but there'd been nothing in there of any real note. One of the lines had been tapped, but it was being tapped by Hakuro's comm expert, and Master Sergeant Pyke was a good friend of his and wouldn't be doing it unless he'd been ordered to. He'd notified Hawkeye just the same, and she'd advised him to let it go.

"You looking to pin something on them or defend them?" Havoc said it bluntly, but Hawkeye didn't seem troubled by the open discussion.

"Either. As it stands I don't think there will be much deliberation."

"You get a confession out of Sorn yet?"

The colonel nodded. "I did. Because of the incident with his guards, protocol mandates anything he says until the completion of his medical treatment will be dismissed under the coercion clause. He's sleeping off a sedative."

"So Tash doesn't have that confession on paper," Breda mused. "Is that anything?"

She shook her head, once. "He didn't do much but confirm what we already knew."

"Any chance of pinning it on Blane?"

Well, at least he could add his two cents in at this point. "None of the radio communications I overheard link Franklin to the suspected spies," he volunteered quietly. "But not to Blane either. Will they be pulled in for the trial?"

"I would expect," Jean muttered. "They under arrest yet?"

"They're in custody, yes. We expect them here in Central by tomorrow morning."

Kain glanced around as a silence fell on the party. Havoc had relaxed slightly, though he still looked like he wanted a cigarette badly enough to choke a puppy for it. Heymans had settled into his thinking posture, which still looked strange on him since the weight loss, and the colonel was her usual straight-backed self. For a moment, it was almost like they were sitting outside Major General Mustang's office again, trying to scheme up a way to get themselves or him out of some mess or other.

But this wasn't a uranium bomb. These were very real crimes that had been committed by the people accused of them. If Franklin had confessed to what they already knew, chances were he would confess again. If he did it in front of Parliament . . .

The only way out for him or for Dr. Patterson would be to smuggle them out of the country.

"The wires for the comm system down in the sub-basement are very old and corroded," he mentioned, trying to make his voice less timid as they all looked his way. "I noticed the last time Falman called up that it's very easy to mistake one word for another. And the only closet one could get to the lines - for repair purposes - would be the telecom closet on the first floor."

Repair purposes or tapping. He was pretty sure the conversations were being recorded, but if a clamp slipped on the fifty year old wires it wouldn't be that unusual. Heck, it might sever one of them completely.

The colonel blinked at him, unreadable as usual, and Breda scratched his scraggly beard thoughtfully. "With those two spies caught and on their way to Central, we need to increase security in case their fellow operatives try to silence them. Would be a hell of a disruption if any of them tried to get their comrades out."

"You forgot the elevator," Havoc cut in, almost apologetically. "Hakuro's usually got two stationed in that hall that never leave. Not that an alchemist couldn't take them down." He glanced at Riza questioningly. "How's Fletcher Tringum? Still on Hakuro's list?"

She nodded, and then a deep voice broke in smoothly, directly over Kain's head. "If Falman wasn't there he'd have been dissected by now. I'm not confident Maria could successfully pry Russell away."

Fuery tried hard not to jump, knowing he'd failed when his tea nearly sloshed all over his hand. Mustang was right, though - if they arranged for Russell not to be there at the time all of this accidentally happened, it would be overly convenient and the general would latch onto it that much harder. And Russell had every reason to protest any kind of accident that might involve freeing the confessed murderer of his brother.

Even if Fletcher was still alive, it didn't change the fact that Timothy Patterson killed him. Was Mustang really trying to get them both out? Sorn by himself would be much easier, and he knew Roy had lobbied hard for giving Patterson life in prison due to extenuating circumstances -

Ah. Which is why he'd clarified the sentence when they walked in. His request for leniency had apparently been overruled. And that probably also meant it was now fact that Sorn would be tried as an adult as well.

"What about the Elrics?" Heymans glanced over his head at Mustang. "Ed's out, I know, but Al's been in visiting Tringum."

Strangely, Hawkeye hesitated. "I think-"

"I'd like to avoid bringing him in if it's possible," Mustang cut over her. "Edward will already be facing intense scrutiny."

Of course. The automail that wasn't.

"How sure are you the kid'll play nice?" Breda tried to catch his the blond's eyes but Havoc ignored him, focused on Hawkeye instead, and Kain looked between the two of them before the colonel spoke. Her voice was quiet and confident.

"I'm sure."

Jean was still a moment more, then leaned back in his seat in the same amicable way he'd always done. ". . . good enough for me. Will he go along with this?"

She frowned. "If ordered," she finally allowed. "Getting them out of the building isn't the only problem."

No, the second, bigger problem would arise when the country was alerted that two of the men behind the plot to kill their beloved leader were on the lamb. The manhunt would be huge.

"Where are we putting them?"

"I need to make a diplomatic visit to Xing," Mustang observed, and the sounds of fabric shifting behind him made Kain tense. Which was silly; the man was just pulling on his jacket. "I allowed a prized piece of their workmanship to become damaged and I should accompany the dragon for repairs. Military representation on that trip will be fairly low. We wouldn't want to alarm Xing after making such high-handed demands on Creta."

Meaning he planned to smuggle them out to Xing. But the interim . . . it would be days. Getting them underground and keeping them there . . .

Underground . . .

"Any alchemist that was accused of human transmutation would probably know their way around the buried city," he heard his mouth start, before the thought was even completely finished. "Won't that elevator also take them down?"

All eyes were on him, and he held the teacup more tightly. "I was just thinking, keeping them underground is easier, well, underground. Sorn can transmute a building, right? I-I mean, you're a few alchemists down already, and Alex Armstrong will probably be deployed as soon as the ceremony is over . . ." No, that was a terrible idea. It would be the first place Hakuro looked and even if there were a million places to hide they really would be trapped, with no real means to get out of the hidden city.

But Havoc's furrowed brow was relaxing, and Heymans was watching some piece of the table consideringly, and Riza was giving him a very approving sort of look. "I believe that elevator will still descend to the hidden city."

Not to mention the other elevator, that was in this very room, that would go down to the same place. Getting them out when the time was right would not be a problem. They could be loaded into Mustang's luggage and the military would never be the wiser.

"Including Blane's guards, there'll be eleven guys down there. I don't know that Sorn can take 'em all out." Heymans looked at Havoc again, and the taller man shook his head.

"Not hand to hand. But the kid apparently pulled off some pretty massive transmutations."

The conversation lulled again, and the presence behind Fuery vanished. "Thank you," Mustang said simply, circling back to his desk. "That is all."

Which had traditionally meant he would consider the probability of that plan actually succeeding, then put his pieces into motion based upon three possible outcomes - it would go according to plan, it would succeed but with hitches, or it would not succeed at all. Hawkeye would coordinate orders, and they could expect them shortly.

Very shortly. They only had a few days to get everything ready, and that was even assuming they could make contact with the rest of Creta's spy network and drop the right hints in the right ears.

"Fuery, a word."

The tea curdled on the back of his tongue, and Kain carefully smiled at all of them as the three nodded to him and took their leave. Breda was the last to go, and he shot him a quick grin and quietly shut the door behind himself. And then he was quite alone with Mustang, still eyeing his desk, every inch the Prime Minister.

However scary the seamstress was, she did excellent work. The collar still made his head look like a mushroom, though.

"I spoke with the general concerning your request for reinstatement," he said distractedly, scanning his desk for something with faint irritation. "The base physician placed the hold on the request, and has advised him you are unable to pass a physical examination."

Fuery put the mug down, unable to leech any more comfort from it, and started for the desk, furious with himself for his short, fearful strides. Everything about him was cringing and for the life of him he just couldn't stop.

He didn't want to be discharged. What was he going to do out there? Mend radios? Keep a little repair shop? After everything he'd seen and been a part of, he'd thought his career was just starting. He was barely twenty-six, and he was getting better every day. He didn't care what the doctors said, he'd get better like Heymans was getting better.

He just . . . wasn't doing it quite as fast. His hands were shaking and he curled them up so it wouldn't be so obvious.

"I will, sir. I will pass a physical."

Roy waved a hand carelessly at him, then shifted a pile of folders and found what he was looking for. He tucked the velvet box into some inner pocket of his ebony coat and then looked up, fixing him with that single, dark eye.

"There are exceptions made every day for soldiers injured in the line of duty." He said it almost dismissively. "Your injuries fall under that classification. The requirement will be waived."

He didn't really hear it the first time, because it sounded like Mustang just said it didn't matter, and if it didn't matter, then the paperwork would have been processed and he would have been notified. Sheska would have said something, being the colonel's assistant. So clearly the fact that the physical requirements had been waived didn't really mean anything.

He'd failed something else.

"Kain."

He blinked up at the man, hoping beyond hope he didn't look as panicked as he felt. Mustang was going to dismiss him. He'd done something else, something wrong, there was something he couldn't do because of this damn _weakness_ that he just couldn't shake as quickly as Breda had. He'd been the last to be asked back, the last to be given tasks, he'd had to fight tooth and nail just to come into this thing now and if he'd been relied on only two weeks ago he might have caught onto the spy network sooner-

"Don't push yourself so hard. Your place here will wait for you." His expression hadn't softened in the least, but somehow that was more reassuring than if he'd gotten a smirk or even a grin. "Your sacrifice saved the lives of alchemists and soldiers both. You need to worry about yourself now." He circled the desk, and Fuery was too stunned to flinch when the Prime Minister put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I expected you to come back when you were ready. If you're saying that's now . . . welcome back."

He stared up at the man, too surprised for words, for so long that Mustang's lips quirked, and he was close enough, finally, to see that it was affected. It was then Fuery realized how much his surprise was probably hurting him.

"Thank you sir," he managed, in a fairly smooth voice, and then he removed his glasses and a polishing cloth because for some reason it seemed he couldn't see quite clearly out of them.

Mustang was mostly to the door by the time he was finished, but obviously waiting for him, and Fuery hurried across the large offices, stifling any evidence that even that small amount of exercise made him out of breath. If Roy noticed it he said nothing, and he moved double-time to keep up with Mustang's long strides.

Oddly, the silence between them was almost companionable, and Kain felt comfortable enough to ask when he noticed the piles of dark leather traveling bags at the foot of the long stairs. "Sir . . . don't those belong to the Drachman party?

He received a short nod. "His Eminence Shurik Tolya feels the Drachman name has been sufficiently cleared, regardless of Creta's answer. He has requested his diplomats be recalled until they can set up a proper embassy."

Fuery blinked. "So they've been released?"

Mustang arched his visible eyebrow. "Released, second lieutenant? You make it sound as if they were not allowed free reign of the capitol buildings."

Kain kept a nod to himself. Of course. Tolya had forgiven the trespass when he'd realized the situation, and depending on how much Mustang trusted the man, may have been grateful simply because he knew his own army had been facing the same risk as Creta's. Or they'd struck some kind of deal, Tolya would ignore what Amestris had done in return for a concession of land for the embassy . . .

"How is Major General Armstrong?"

Mustang favored him with a sideways look. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

"Ah. Olivier Milla Armstrong."

"She's well." Not that she would allow her wound to get in the way of her brother's promotional ceremony. Hakuro had held it up long enough that they were likely only to be of the same rank for a short period of time. Once the Creta issue had been resolved, she was probably looking at a promotion herself.

"I expect the banquet afterwards will be quite an affair. You should be sure to attend, second lieutenant."

"Yessir."

- x -

She was cleaning again.

He left his eyes closed, listening and idly trying to determine what exactly she was doing. Somewhere at the foot of the bed - picking up the towel that had been wrapped around his hair. A tug of fabric against his itchy calves - straightening the sheet. Now she was back around towards the door, and he heard the switch click and the faint electric buzz of the lights in the tiny, private bathroom.

Ed slid his eyes open, studying the edge of the bed to determine where he was in relation to the rest of it. He was too close to the edge he was facing, and he didn't stifle the faint groan that crawled from his throat when he shifted. Even after stretching out in the cool water of the pool, it still hurt to move, and it hurt far more when he actually had to support his own weight.

"Ed?"

He let his eyes half-close again in relief when he'd rearranged himself, careful to stare aimlessly at the IV pole instead of Winry as she emerged from the bathroom.

"What's the matter?"

"Can . . ." He let it trail off, then flicked a finger half-heartedly at his IV stand. "Not dripping," he added, though she was already on her way.

"Did it get bent again?" Her grey pleated skirt swung into his field of vision, blocking the IV stand from view as she inspected the bag of fluids, and he struck. It was relatively easy to slip three fingers into her waistband, and he pulled almost as hard as he was able, hoping he had enough leverage in sheer dead weight.

With a startled yelp she fell onto the bed, and before she could put her feet back on the floor he wrapped his stinging arm around her securely.

"Hey! What-"

She twisted, and he wasn't able to reposition his arm fast enough. "Ah-!"

Winry froze instantly, half straightened, and he huffed, trying to ease the arm without letting her go. Or grabbing anything that was off limits. He was sure his expression was positively wolfish, though, and he tried to imitate Al's 'pathetic' voice. "Every time you move it hurts. You don't want to hurt me, do you?"

He expected her to turn around and clobber him, but she remained perfectly still, obviously completely shocked. He chuckled tiredly at her, pulling her back onto the mattress, and once she realized he was teasing, she growled.

Much better.

"Very much. Let go."

"No." He moved his head back to give her room on the pillow, just in case she accepted, and tugged more emphatically as she squirmed. "Give up."

She shook her head in exasperation, blonde hair confined in a head scarf, but sagged slightly against the bed. It was rather large to accommodate his physical therapy, and there was enough room for both of them if she'd just relax. Her back was still to him, tense beneath her white blouse, and she sighed. "They gave you the good drugs, huh."

Not good enough. "You were cleaning again."

Winry snorted. "Someone has to. For a person who does nothing but sleep, your room is a pigsty."

He gave another tug on her waist. "For someone who doesn't sleep at all, you do a lot of complaining."

"Ed, what are you doing?" It was irritated but fond, and he knew he'd won.

"Infecting you with my sleep."

She choked on a laugh. "I do sleep, you just don't stay awake long enough to notice."

"Don't believe you." But she'd relented, and he released his tight hold as she swung her legs back onto the bed and stretched out beside him. He couldn't see her face, but that didn't matter. He was fairly certain she was exhausted enough to fall asleep before he did, and as soon as she was settled, he hugged her close.

"Fine. If it'll shut you up . . ." She sighed lightly, then flinched as she realized she was lying on his right arm. "Sorry-"

He hugged her a little tighter against him. "S'fine. I was kidding." In truth it only hurt a little, and only when he actively used the muscles. Her weight was slight, slighter than it had been in a long time, and comfortable despite the lack of armor. "Keep this up and the doc'll put you on bedrest."

Another snort, much more delicate. "I'm fine, Ed."

He closed his eyes, fighting between intense drowsiness and the desire to shake her until her teeth rattled. She wasn't fine. ". . . you don't have to be Aunt Pinako, you know."

Winry didn't get tense again, which he was afraid of, but she didn't respond, and he chewed the silence. He didn't want to fight with her, all he really wanted her to do was get some damn sleep. Al had already indicated that he was worried about her too, though something else was picking at his brother and he wasn't quite sure he was ready to address it yet. Maybe later, when he could stay awake for an entire conversation.

Then again, it would be rude to fall asleep now that he'd just pulled Winry into the bed.

. . . shit. He'd pulled Winry into the bed.

She took a breath, but it was a long time before she used it. " . . . Ed-"

"It's just the blankets that got bunched up, I swear."

The mattress shook with her laughter, but it was over all too soon. "You're not . . . thinking about doing anything, right?"

His eyes opened to stare at the back of her head curiously. "About Aunt Pinako?" He wondered, from the tone of her voice, how she hoped he'd respond. "I think Al's brought it up to the Tringums. I'm not gonna tell you that it's without risk, but . . ." He trailed off, not sure how much to say. "I think she's afraid we'd screw it up."

Winry nodded into the pillow, her golden hair tickling his nose. "She has ever reason to be."

His eyes slipped closed again. She'd done a valiant job of not yelling at him yet, and pulling her into bed with him was just inviting that sort of thing. "Winry-"

She shifted, pulling up her knees a little, but she didn't make any move to leave. "You cut it too close this time." It was soft.

Of course, she always said that, but he'd been making a habit of shaving it closer and closer as time went on. He had no ready protest so he just remained silent.

She was right.

"I think Al thought . . . that you died." She said it hesitantly. "There was one night he came to granny's room, really upset, but he wouldn't tell me. Then Maria came in to give him a message. He said he'd be back soon but he wasn't . . ." Her arm came down to tighten around the one he'd wrapped around her waist. "You can't do that to him again, Ed."

He trapped her fingers in his hand. Mustang had told him that they'd initially gotten word that he'd been executed, but why the hell would he have told Al without getting confirmation first? It wasn't at all like the bastard to give that kind of information away until the casket was getting unloaded.

Son of a bitch.

"I didn't mean to." It sounded incredibly lame. "I didn't intend for it to happen that way, Winry. I was the only one-" The only one who could have gotten Franklin the hell out of that mess but Al. Only he'd failed. Miserably. "It was either me or Al. I don't care how mad that makes him, I'm not going to let him get sent into something like that."

She sighed, and her chin dropped. "I think he's getting tired of being protected."

Ed's eyes opened again as his brain realized they might not be talking only about Al. "Winry . . ." But she didn't need to know that. That Mustang's orders had been to stop Franklin at any cost. That hadn't just meant standing in front of an army to change his mind. It had also meant killing him if he couldn't be dissuaded. If Sorn had managed to make the Stone, tried to go back in time . . . the damage he could have done even if it wasn't impossible was incalculable. And if the kid was right, if Einstein was wrong or the Stone would allow you to ignore not only alchemical law but physical laws as well, to that extent-

"I didn't mean to leave you behind. But it was too dangerous, and wizard that you are, you're no alchemist."

"I wasn't talking about me, lunkhead," she growled, slapping the arm around her waist. "I know you didn't leave me behind, and don't think for a second that I'm angry with you about that." She huffed, but it was more resigned than anything else, and she replaced her hand in his.

". . . everyone's life is worth more than yours, Ed. You promised me you'd stop this, but here you are." Her voice dropped. "When they got you in here, they weren't sure you were going to make it. Did you know that?"

He stared silently at the back of her head.

"They said you woke up on the train, but you wouldn't open your eyes, no matter how much me or Al talked to you. Every time there was a loud noise you flinched. At night it was like . . . it took every bit of strength you had left just to breathe." She hesitated. "And then there was a thunderstorm . . . even when you were half-under getting automail installed, Ed, you never sounded like that." Winry was starting to tremble, just a little, and he pulled her back and shoulders close against his chest. Her fingers folded tightly around his, and the head scarf shivered around her hair.

"You can't do this anymore, Ed. It hurts too much."

He focused on a single strand of hair that was stark and bright against the headscarf. "You saying I should quit being a State Alchemist?"

She snorted. "Like that would stop you."

His lips pulled back into a smile. She was right. "Win, it was me or Al. We're the only ones that know what that array looks like and what it's for. I don't want to educate anyone else on it, either. The fewer who know the better. It's not like I was reckless."

But was that really true? She did have a point; her life, Pinako's, Al's, even the bastard's, if he was forced to weigh them, of course they'd be worth more. And he knew he could argue that Winry was the same way - she was proving it by working herself to exhaustion. She'd say it was her coping mechanism and it was, but it wasn't the mechanism she thought.

"You're always reckless, Ed, when it's about you." But she didn't let his fingers go, didn't move away. "Granny's right. You would risk it all for her without a second thought."

He shifted, picking up his head to stare at her incredulously. "And you think that's wrong?"

"Of course I do!" Her head twisted sharply on the pillow, and he could see the corner of her left eye, glaring at him. "You don't owe anything anymore, Ed! You don't have a sin to repent for! We thought-we thought-" She broke it off, whipping her head back around so he was looking at the back of it again. "We were afraid you might not ever wake up. Not really. We thought you might end up the way you were when . . . when you and Al first got back."

That had crossed his mind, right after he'd realized exactly what Luis had been pouring into the tub. Even before he'd decreased the resistance by dousing him with water it had been relatively bad, but after . . . Luis had been right. It had been pretty damn close to automail. Close enough that he could pretend.

Close enough that he'd been able to do it on purpose. Just . . . leave for a while. And for all that he was damn sure he'd let himself go to prevent Sorn from having to watch, from being tempted to talk, he didn't think he'd be able to say that out loud while looking in a mirror. Just the memory made him shiver, and he worked his hand free of Winry's so he could try to shift the sheet up a little higher.

"Well, I'm not." Anything to pull his mind out of that god-forsaken room in Germany. If he fell asleep now, had a nightmare about it - "Trust me, Winry, I don't do this stuff for fun."

"Then why?" It was plaintive. "Why can't you just . . . not? Why can't you smash your fingers with a hammer like everyone else? Why do you have to smash your entire body?"

How many times could he tell her he was the only one before she realized it?

A new thought occurred to him, and he frowned at it. How long would she keep asking before he considered the possibility that he wasn't as indispensible as he thought?

Or maybe her point was that he was. He was invaluable to her, and to Al. He hadn't left her behind, not really, but that didn't really matter. If everyone came before him, then he was worthless, and by extension that meant he considered their feelings about him equally worthless. "I'll always risk my life for other people's. It's kinda built in at this point."

"Then why can't you risk letting someone else risk it?"

He stared at the back of her head. Risk letting someone make a mistake on that scale - or risk letting someone else be the one to save the day? Didn't he let his brother wander into Blane's very house and risk getting exposed to the same virus that -

No. Better not think that way. If Al hadn't realized it it didn't matter. Blane was contained. Even if he'd given Al the virus then and there it didn't matter, there was no one left alive who could use it against him.

But he knew full well that he'd reacted to the thought, somehow, because Winry was wrapping her own arm around herself in lieu of using his. It wasn't that he didn't trust others to do their jobs - hadn't he trusted the bastard?

Only because you had to, his mind reasoned. You tried and failed to get him out of the fight with Craege Irving.

But later that night-

He figured it out and moved on his own. Though he did save countless lives by stopping the poisoned ink on the newspapers and they'd used their alchemy jointly to accomplish the goal it wasn't like he left much up to someone else but sustaining alchemy they'd already started.

Fine, he griped at his brain. What about letting Al-

Letting, his mind pointed out, and he swatted it in irritation and decided to argue with Winry, instead. "Winry . . . "

"Every time I see you walk out a door I can't trust you to come back through it. I never know when you're going to be the 'only one' who can save the world and the only thing I _can_ trust is that you'll go to any length to do it. It's never a team effort with you when it really counts, Ed, when the stakes are really high. No one's allowed to see, no one's allowed to help. And that's fine if you're the Full Metal Alchemist, but . . . not if you're Edward." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"I miss Edward."

He didn't know what to say, so he replaced his arm around her, and this time he found and wound his fingers through hers. It took her a long time to squeeze back, so long he was briefly afraid he'd fallen asleep waiting.

"I'd say next time I'll let you do it, but . . . I don't want a next time." With every aching bone in his body.

Winry sighed, and it sounded as drowsy as he felt. "Shut up and go to sleep already."

"You first."

Some unknown time later he was briefly woken by something squirming in his arms, and he cracked open his eyes to see Winry trying unsuccessfully to get away from him, his arms clamped around her like a little kid cuddles a hot water bottle on a cold night. For some reason it seemed like they were both covered in a blanket, and Winry was doing her level best to ooze off the edge of the bed without disturbing either of them.

He didn't let her go, and he went right back to sleep.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Crap. I am way off my guesstimate at this point - those of you who outbid me are looking to be correct! The real world came and bited me. Evil real world. Also, Silverfox is to blame for introducing me to D. Gray Man (or as I lovingly refer to it, D. Crap Man, because in the anime, after the commercial break, the highly stylized, tiny font looks like it says D. Crap Man.)

So a possible plan to get Sorn and Patterson the hell out of Dodge! And Ed hemming and hawing on what to do with Pinako. This chapter was supposed to include one of the threatened tearjerkers, but I realized it would be just too long, so you get a short one, and then hopefully a much longer one that will wrap up a good portion of the fic. Standard typo disclaimer applies - if you spot anything, please let me know!

And thank all of you for your patience as I draw this out in its painful entirety. Aren't you glad I wasn't this slow when Ed was dead? ; )


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

**Content Warning**: Tearjerk warning. Anyone with an emotional attachment to this arc needs to take this one seriously.

- x -

"Falman takes good care of him," Russell murmured in an undertone as they exited into the staging room. Vato was, in fact, just outside the main door, but Al was reasonably certain Russ wasn't speaking loudly enough for it to carry. "I wouldn't leave him otherwise."

Al just nodded, taking one last look behind them. Fletcher was oblivious to their departure, stretched out on the small cot with his angry, puckered red arm hanging off the side of the bed. And even though Al knew damn well that three skin layers below the surface fresh, unscathed tissue was forming, mainly because he and Russ had just spent an hour on it, it still looked terrible.

It had stopped smelling, which was a plus, and as they repaired the damage to the muscle below Fletcher's pain had become much more manageable. Even so, Russ wouldn't leave him until he'd not only taken his daily regimen of meds but had actually fallen asleep. He insisted it was because Fletcher wasn't allowed to have the bottle, as the military was afraid he'd overdose, but Al knew better.

He also knew better than to say a damn word about it. "All the tests have been run at this point, right?"

Russ nodded and pulled open the main door, ushering Al through before ever so quietly closing it behind them. Falman was exactly where they'd left him, at parade rest by the door, and he gave them both a surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eye. Al grinned at the silver-haired soldier, and though he didn't twitch a muscle he seemed to relax. He, too, knew that Russ wouldn't set foot outside that cell if there was anything amiss with the prisoner inside.

For his part, Fletch's older brother snorted. "They've taken half his blood by now, I swear. A bone biopsy, heart rate, metabolism - there was this thick orange sludge they made him drink to test his 'kidneys' and I'm still finding it in his system so thick I could strain it out with cheesecloth. I'm pretty sure it was designed to give him diarrhea for a month."

Al winced. "That's a lovely mental image, Russ, thanks."

The other boy shrugged a shoulder, giving Vato a pat on the shoulder as they started the long, somewhat creepy journey to the elevator and exit. "I don't see how they can keep him much longer. Even if Sorn never admits to it . . ." He trailed off, coming to a stop, and Al glanced at him, then further up the hall.

There had been an increased military presence in front of Sorn's cell of late, and tonight was no exception. No fewer than four soldiers were standing around it in the hallway, and on the far end of the hall they could see a long white coat almost to the far door. Al glared as soon as he realized who it was, and Russ chuckled under his breath. "Let's wait for the next one, shall we?"

He almost protested - a few minutes in relative seclusion with the physician that had nearly drugged him into a coma to prevent him from finding out about Edward's 'execution' might be just what the doctor ordered. He knew full well he was getting increasingly tense and stressed, and normally he would spar - and usually beat the crap out of - Ed to work it out. Now and for the foreseeable future, that was off the table. Somehow a gym had less appeal, and while Russell was very good at street fighting, he probably wasn't the right opponent for that sort of aggression to be channeled onto.

Then again, if the parade grounds were empty, he could think of a nice, strong target-

"Stop looking so murderous. You're too much like Ed when you do that."

Al narrowed his eyes, but it was mostly playful. "Nice going. Calm me down by calling me my brother."

Russ broke into a grin. He'd been doing it a lot more lately, now that Fletcher was obviously on the mend, and it brightened Al's spirits a bit. "Hey, I'm surprised you haven't taken a swing at _me_ yet. Don't know who to find you as a sparring partner, until Fullmetal's back on his feet. Ever played with Morris?"

Al shook his head, leaning against the wall as they waited, just to make sure Dr. Murly was well and truly up the elevator and Hakuro's headache once again. "No. Not sure I want that kinda fight, though."

Russ nodded amicably, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and Al hesitated. "I know . . . what you've said, and what it means, but I'm no healer. Yeah, I'm learning," he added as Russ tried to protest, "and you're a great teacher, both of you, but nii-san won't let me lay a hand on him anymore. Even though now I know what I'm looking for . . . how bad is it? Really?"

Russell took his time in answering, watching the four soldiers gossiping a few cells down. "He had a heart attack, no doubt about it. Nerve damage is rampant from the electricity, the wrists will probably scar just like your IV line did." He indicated Al's long-healed forearm, bearing a mark where he'd ripped it out trying to stop Russell from performing human transmutation on what they'd thought was Fletcher's corpse. "You know from Fletch what nerve damage is like, but he won't be paralyzed. More likely he just won't hurt as bad the next time he does something stupid."

"Not that pain was really a deterrent before," Al grumbled, and Russ chuckled again.

"But his heart . . . well, you know this already. The automail he had growing up was bad enough for it, but having a serious cardiac event at this point in his life, and complicating it with everything else . . . it's hard to say. He'll probably die of heart failure if he survives his own stupidity that long, but I wouldn't expect to start worrying about that for a couple decades." He added it hastily, and tempered it with a small smile. "He's otherwise in excellent condition, and with . . . the changes to his body recently, that'll help some. The biggest thing you can do for him right now is prevent him from doing anything for about six months."

Al indicated with his eyes what he thought of that recommendation, and Russ laughed outright. "Tall order, I know, but you asked. He'll make it, Al. Probably took a good four or five years off his lifespan, but he'll be himself again in a year's time. You'll see."

Al stared at the four guards while he thought. Shortened his lifespan, but they knew the automail had done that, Pinako had told them that when they were boys.

Pinako. They'd already had that conversation, with Fletcher as much a part of it as Russell. It was just as risky as it sounded, and even if they used safe healing alchemy, and treated the internal bleeding and anemia, at her age even in her best condition her chances of surviving a highly invasive surgery were terrible. The way in which her pelvis had been cracked, and the length of the incision needed to reach all of it-

He glanced down the hall toward Patterson's cell, only then noting that there were no guards in front of it. Simple math told him that the two extra near Sorn's must be Patterson's, but why would they have left him alone . . . ?

"Hey," Al called, pushing off the wall, and the four soldiers glanced his way, then saluted.

"Lieutenant Colonel, sir!"

He waved them down. "Why aren't you at your post?"

Two of the soldiers refused to come to parade rest - obviously the guilty parties. "Apologies, sir! The prisoner asked for a few moments to bathe, sir."

He considered that for a moment - it wasn't at all like soldiers to grant a request like that for someone who had tried to kill the Prime Minister, and Al didn't know these soldiers very well. However, clearly both he and Russ were recognized, and one of them looked pained and saluted sharply.

"Sorry, sirs! Won't happen again!"

Al shook his head. "That's fine-" But they had both about-faced and were returning to their posts, and Al was quite conscious of Russell, who had turned his head slightly to listen to the conversation but looked decidedly neutral about the whole thing. Everyone who knew the situation with Patterson would probably be a little more sympathetic, and he was probably the most well-behaved prisoner they'd ever had, but nothing could change the fact that he'd killed Fletcher Tringum. They hadn't really talked about it, and though Fletcher had obviously forgiven him, Russell was another story altogether.

In his place he wasn't sure how he'd feel.

Russ raised an eyebrow at the obvious scrutiny. "Something you wanna say?"

Al shook his head mutely and returned to his position on the wall, and the other two guards stood in a stiff parade rest. He was pretty sure they wouldn't answer, but they still had time to kill until they were sure Murly was gone and Russ was still giving him a rather expectant look. Perhaps jonesing for a fight himself.

"Why has there been additional staff around this cell, sergeant?"

The identified officer saluted. "That information is classified, lieutenant colonel."

And a doctor . . . had the interrogations gotten serious enough to warrant roughing Sorn up? Or had the kid somehow injured himself? Either way he could probably get the information fro. . .m Mustang . . . Al unclenched his teeth as soon as his jaw started to ache.

Sooner or later he'd have to deal with him, and that situation.

"Easy, Al. It's not the guy's fault," Russ pointed out reasonably, and Al shook his head.

"It's not you. Thank you, sergeant," he clarified, stepping off the wall again. "Think we've given Murly enough time to get out of here. Let's go."

Russ gave him an inquiring glance of his own, but Al ignored it, and the two proceeded pretty much shoulder to shoulder down the narrow hall. "You ever find out what those alchemists did?"

Tringum jerked his chin at the door at the end of the hall. "You mean the guys in there?" The second hall, between them and the elevator, was a prison, and currently had two occupants that Mustang had revealed to them were alchemists incarcerated since Bradley's time. He'd heard nothing else, but with so much personnel in and out of here lately, who knew what Russ might have overheard. "Sorry, not much. I'm surprised you were willing to take Winry past them, though."

"She insisted." They hadn't made a sound, not even with a pretty girl walking by, and that in itself had been creepier than their usual bright stares. He'd never heard them so much as shift their chains when anyone had passed by them, and the possible explanations for their silence grew progressively dark the longer he considered them.

They were on top of Patterson's cell when one of the guards burst out of it, sprinting for the same door. The second one appeared at the cell door a second later. The urgency with which they moved was hard to ignore.

"Sergeant?"

"Please help us call a doctor, sir! There's been an accident!"

It was too late for them to catch the doctor at the elevator, he was sure, and Al wasted no time in shouldering past the stuttering guard. Unfortunately there was still a wall between the staging room and the cell room, and even once it was no longer an issue he found himself at a loss.

The sink was running, though no steam rose from the basin - prisoners didn't get the luxury of hot water. Patterson had clearly either finished or was waiting in vain for it to get warm, leaning against the opposite wall. He'd moved the cot so that it was between the cell door and him, and what little of him was visible seemed pale but perfectly fine. His eyes were closed, and he was sprawled comfortably with his legs outstretched and almost halfway into the tiny cell.

"Doc." The guards had left the cell door slightly ajar, and Al grabbed the bars, sliding it back. "Patterson."

He looped the cot, finding the shirtless doctor far more pale than he'd originally thought. He slouched against the cinderblock wall in only his boxers, and the hollow body of a black pen jammed deep and high into his left thigh channeled spurting, bright blood directly into the floor drain.

"Doc!"

"Shit," Russell growled, hurrying past him and kicking the cot out of the way. Al left the pen where it was, capping it off with a thumb as they both tried to get a look at the injury. Femoral artery, and the presence of such a useful conduit was not helping it clot. Despite the pressure, blood started to well around the base of the pen, and Al cursed as he realized why Patterson had left the water running.

This was obviously no accident. The doctor had left the water running so he wouldn't be found until it was too late, and every drop of blood that had already left his body had been carried into the pipes, out of alchemy's reach.

They couldn't put the blood back.

"Pull it, Al."

He responded instantly to the authority in the tone, and Russell clapped his hands as an alarming amount of blood escaped Patterson's leg.

"Can we tie the leg off?"

Russell's expression was grim as his hands glowed. "No. He got the blood vessel all the way into his groin."

If they couldn't put the blood back in, they needed to find a replacement. Instantly. Patterson was barely breathing, and even with the pressure Russell was putting on the blood vessel it was still sluggishly throbbing to his fading pulse.

"Sugar and iron-"

"I don't have enough down here. Hold this." And then Russell was gone, sprinting from the cell, and Al followed the blood vessel as far into the doctor as he could, pressing hard. It had slowed to a trickle before Russ returned, sliding on the concrete floor as he deposited three small sacks between the doctor's legs. Without explanation he hurried back out, and Al grabbed the loosely tied sacks, dumping them onto the concrete.

Iron, sugar, salt. Water was available in the drain. Potassium was available in the concrete.

He released the jaggedly torn blood vessel only to clap his hands, and he used the body of the pen to funnel the created solution back into circulation. It wouldn't carry oxygen, but it would replace fluids and keep his blood pressure up, allowing what little blood he had left to continue circulating around the body. Al kept tight pressure on the wound, though despite his efforts it continued to sluggishly bleed.

He transmuted until he was out of salt, then brought his right hand to his left wrist and tried to congeal the blood on the surface. Russ had been right; he felt the skin of the doctor's thigh start to puff as the blood escaped internally through the badly damaged artery, and then Patterson groaned softly, his head falling forward.

Al grit his teeth, watching the doctor's eyelids twitch. Dull eyes, his mother's eyes finally opened, and then Patterson moaned.

"You with me, doc?" He hadn't replaced enough fluid, and there was too much blood loss. Russ wasn't going to get back in time, not with the internal bleeding continuing.

They weren't going to make it.

Patterson picked up his head slightly, pain tightening slack facial muscles, and two precious tears slid onto his face. "No . . . no." His uninjured leg moved feebly, and Al knelt on it, hard.

"Doc, stop-"

"Leggo. Let me go." He picked up his arms weakly, trying to push Al away, and beneath his hand the muscles of the doctor's left leg crawled. Patterson was trying to move, to encourage circulation.

He was trying to bleed faster.

"Dammit, Patterson, stop! You're going to kill yourself!"

He had no strength left to sob, but tears poured down his pale face. "What . . . will I see?"

Al stared at him helplessly, and Patterson's unfocused eyes lifted. "I'm . . . so scared, Alphonse."

"Dammit, doc . . . why?" He was very close to him now, checking him with his shoulder as the doctor continued to struggle ineffectually. "Why?"

His blank eyes reflected the terror the rest of him was too weak to. "So he wouldn't have to. Can't . . . do this again," he admitted shakily. "I can feel . . . everything. Oh . . . god, Al, it hurts."

Al pressed hard into the wound, almost wincing himself as Patterson cried out. "I'm sorry, doc, but it's not time to go yet." Come on, Russ. Salt and sugar packets from food trays. Anything.

"Past time. I . . . died a long time ago." A small whimper. "Please stop, Al. It's too late."

He growled, lowering his head so he could be sure Patterson could see his face. "Why did you do this?"

The blank eyes closed, but faint hiccups gave away the doctor's consciousness. "It's . . . not meaningless. God, I'm such a coward. I . . . I always have been. I'm . . . going to Hell, aren't I." His face crumpled slightly and he took a shuddering breath. "Al, please . . . tell me what I'll see."

The sergeant shifted helplessly outside the cell, the uniform fabric deafening in the thick silence, and Al swallowed hard, grabbing one of Patterson's hands tightly. "You'll see the Gate, doc. Two big doors, lots of gaudy statuary. It'll be light, yellow light, but you won't see where it's coming from."

"What's . . . inside? For me? Those th-things?"

Al blinked the tears out of his eyes. "The Gate beings. Yes. The doors will open, and you'll see a brilliant light like the sun."

Beneath him, the doctor's relaxing form shuddered, and he gasped when Al shifted his weight. "Then what?"

"Then you'll walk in. They won't hurt you, doc. They'll welcome you. Your family will be there, if they were waiting for you."

The doc swallowed stickily, trembling as his body continued to weaken. "I'm a murderer. They w-won't . . . dad will be so disappointed-"

"That's not true and you know it," Al snapped back, voice thick, and he squeezed the doctor's limp hand tightly enough to hurt. "You're a good man, doc. Listen to me. Listen. We all forgive you. Me, nii-san, Russ and Fletch - we forgive you."

"I . . . can't forgive myself."

"You did what you had to! You have to listen to me, doc. I've been there. They'll be there smiling, glad to see that you survived, you grew up . . . you became a brilliant doctor. You saved lives, doc. You saved mine. You saved nii-san's. Kain and Heymans . . . you did so much good in this life-"

The doc cried out again weakly, jerking convulsively beneath him, and Al pressed his temple hard into Patterson's forehead. "Listen to me! They'll disappear down this bright corridor, and you'll follow them. You'll have to pick. One of them will lead back to the town, where Blane never came. All your friends from childhood will be there, it'll be like nothing ever changed."

". . . Lily . . ."

"She's fine, doc. She forgives you." He knew it was a lie and he didn't care. "There are no demons for you, Patterson. There's no Hell for people like you. Good people. You're a good man, doc, and we love you. We'll see you again." Silent tears poured down his face. "Believe me, doc. You're a good man. We forgive you."

Patterson said nothing, and Al pressed his fingers in harder, pressed his forehead in harder. He chafed the limp, cooling hand in his own. "I'm still here, doc. I'm right here. You're not alone. It'll be okay, don't be afraid. You're going to see the Gate, do you hear me? The doors will open. You'll walk in, and you'll see them again. Everyone will be happy to see you. They forgive you, doc. They forgive you."

Patterson wasn't trembling anymore, and Al dug his fingers in harder still, unable to discern another pulse above his own.

"I'm here. I won't leave. It's going to be fine. You're a good man, and we'll miss you, but we'll see you again. You're a good friend, doc. You're a good doctor. You saved lives. You made a difference."

He repeated it, over and over, until he felt the leg beneath his fingers grow heavier, the skull resting against his heavier. Al leaned back slightly, holding the doctor up with his shoulder as the body slumped forward, and he finally let go of the man's leg. Blood seeped from the wound but not as it had before, and steadily, without pattern. He confirmed with a bloody hand, wiping the stain from the man's white throat when he was done.

Russell had re-entered the cell at some point, had let a old faucet and various salt and coffee sweetener packets fall uselessly to the cot, and now he just stood there at the dead man's feet, breathing hard. Al smiled up at him as strongly as he could.

"Thank you."

Russ gave a short nod, turning to scrub his face quickly, and they both jumped at a gunshot.

Al hesitated before laying the doctor's hand gently on his lap, and Russ and the sergeant were already to the staging room door when Al saw the flash of alchemic light. Tringum was through before Al could even get out of the cell, and he heard a startled "Franklin-!" before a clap and someone hitting the wall.

Sorn . . .? How the hell had he gotten out? How did he know?

In the time it took him to cross the cell room to the staging room door he heard a massive transmutation, and he saw Sorn and Russell, who had him pinned to the wall by his wrists, sink through the wall as if it wasn't there. It wasn't - it disintegrated behind them, and Tringum tripped, off-balance and trying not to trample Sorn. The kid used it to his advantage; he fell backwards on purpose, pulling Russ, then slid between his legs, grabbing the backs of Tringum's knees to scoot forward. It threw off Russ's balance completely and he fell, and then the teen was scrambling to his feet, and his head came up, and he saw-

He was frantic. His eyes were white-ringed and wild, and despite obviously poor coordination - he'd been in that damn chair too long - he moved like a man on fire. Al didn't bother to prepare a transmutation; he knew he wouldn't need one.

"Sorn, stop!"

The boy brought his hands together, still rushing forward full-tilt and probably not in control of his own inertia, and Al obligingly gave ground, falling back into the cell room. He waited until Sorn had to correct his path to get through the door, then caught his upper right arm, letting his own momentum swing him face first into the back wall. He grabbed Franklin's left arm as he completed the turn, preventing him from getting a hand on the wall, and before he knew it Sorn was pinned, his arms behind him, unable to touch himself or Al.

He was breathing hard, far more flustered than Al had ever seen him, and he shook with adrenaline and effort.

"Franklin, what the hell-"

The familiar shock of alchemical energy flashed through Al's upper body, tingling from the joint of his hands and Sorn's arms. Al froze for a moment, completely shocked, waiting for pain that never came. Instead, the wall Franklin's face was pressed to vanished, exactly as it had when he'd been pinned by Russell.

A transmutation of concrete wouldn't have touched him - too little in common, and it was clear Sorn was transmuting all the concrete, not just one element of it. So that wasn't the transmutation Sorn had prepared previously. He'd just completed an array using the circuit created by Al himself. He'd used another alchemist.

No wonder Russ hadn't seen it coming.

The boy threw himself forward, and hadn't disintegrated enough of the wall for Al to follow, and Alphonse grimly braced a foot against the lip of the damage, nearly losing hold of the sweat-slicked teen before he was able to wrench him back.

"Let me go!" Sorn screamed, but Al didn't pay attention. He swung the boy by his upper right arm directly into his outstretched leg, taking his feet out from under him, and drove them both to the ground. Though it pinned Franklin's left hand under him, his right was still behind his back, and that way there was no circle forming, either by the traditional method or by using another alchemist to serve as the other half.

The teenager fought him hard, nearly getting his left hand out from beneath him, and Alphonse leaned more heavily on the smaller body beneath him, hating the familiar tone of the whole situation. Sorn's struggles became more frantic still, but he never stopped screaming.

"Get off me! Let me go! Let me go!"

"Knock it off!" he snapped in the boy's ear, though it had little effect. "What do you think you're doing!?"

Franklin made another concerted effort to free his left hand, then broke it off, gasping. "I can fix it, let me go-"

Al followed the young man's gaze beneath the cot, where most of Patterson's slumped profile was visible. Sorn was staring at it wild-eyed, and when he realized that Al knew what he was talking about, his tone changed. "There's still time, let me do it-"

He shook the body underneath his as hard as he dared. "You don't have a Stone, you idiot! It won't work without one-"

Sorn swallowed another gasp. "I'll make it work! You want him back, don't you?!" When he got no response, he tried again. "You want to kill me yourself, don't you?! Let me go!"

He knew. He knew he wouldn't survive this human transmutation and he wanted to do it anyway.

Al almost headbutted the teen. "Even if you get his soul back, his body can't support it. It -" He caught himself. "It's meaningless."

"NO!" Another frantic, ultimately pointless and much shorter struggle. "No! Tringum is a healing alchemist! He can repair his body-"

"I wouldn't be able to get the amount of blood necessary for a successful transfusion in time." Russ sounded quite a bit calmer than Al felt, and Al didn't look up at him as the other alchemist entered the room. "It won't work, Franklin. Besides, what's to say he won't just kill himself again?"

The boy panted beneath him, still staring at the body. "I . . . this is the only one I can undo-"

"You can't." Russell's voice was hard. "You can't undo death. Not like this. Where's Falman?"

Alphonse stared up at Russell in surprise, finding him not alone. The sergeant was behind him, craning his neck to make sure the prisoner was well and truly captured.

Of course. If Franklin had gotten out of his cell, he must have overpowered his own guards, and all the guards in the hall. Blane's guards, Patterson's, and Fletcher's. "Are they-"

"Everyone's found but Falman," Russ answered shortly. "What did you do to the white-haired one, Sorn?"

The boy gasped beneath him, still struggling.

"Did you kill him? Did you kill someone just to get here?"

The boy shook. "No! I didn't . . . they're fine, I didn't see a white-haired man-"

Al grimaced. "He went to tell Mustang. Sergeant, check the phone by the elevator."

The soldier dashed off to do so, and Russell looked slightly mollified, stepping around them back toward the cell. Al followed him curiously with his eyes as he took a step into the cell, reaching for the foot of the cot, where his ingredients had been discarded-

And he slid a small sheaf of papers out from under them.

"Please let me try." Sorn's voice was much softer, much less demanding. "Please, I can't- I have to fix this, it's all I can do-"

"You can't." Russ's voice was uncompromising. "He's dead, Franklin. There's nothing we can do."

"What if I'd had that attitude towards Fletcher?!" Al felt his eyes widen and he tightened his grip on the teen. Franklin ignored the warning. "Then he'd still be dead! You don't know I can't do it-"

"As you are now, you're worthless. You'd be torn apart without a Stone to offer the Gate, and even if it worked, Patterson would just die again as soon as his soul was bound." There was no pity at all in his voice, and the papers were folding fearfully in his clenching fist.

"No!" The boy started sobbing, but he muffled it valiantly. "Let me try-"

"I think letting one person commit suicide today is enough, thank you," Al snapped, before Russ could answer. "If it could be done, someone that cared about him would have done it, don't you think?"

Franklin shook his head, coating his left cheek in grey dust and tears. "Let me go-"

"Not gonna happen." He focused on Russell. "What are those?"

"Letters." Russell's voice was still tight. He flipped through two or three of the sheets before he stopped, and Al followed his flickering eyes.

"Russ?"

The man suddenly folded up that sheet, tucking it into his shirt. "It's for Fletcher." He cleared his throat. "One for Mustang, too-" and he kept flipping pages as footsteps sounded in the staging room. "Not a suicide note, it's-"

"I'll take those into evidence, if you would, Major."

Al couldn't stop a humorless grin at the smooth voice, and General Hakuro entered the cell, flanked by several guards who immediately secured both the room and the cell's deceased occupant. Given the appearance and attitude of the grey-dusted men, apparently Sorn had spent a lot of time moving concrete and stone, but then again he'd have had little else to use and had been in far too great a hurry to construct anything along his usual lines. Several guns were leveled his way, though obviously on Sorn, and Al gave the men what he hoped was a reasonably sincere smile.

"General," he greeted civilly. "With your permission I'll escort him back to his cell."

Sorn's sobs had broken off at the entrance of the general, and Hakuro stared down at him a brief moment before giving Alphonse a short nod. "The evidence, Major Tringum?"

Al climbed to his feet, still keeping a firm grip on Franklin, and the general stepped around them. There was no way to restrain him without acting again as a circuit for the young man's alchemy - how the hell had he done it? - but somehow he was more subdued, and while a sob or two still escaped him he didn't speak again, keeping his eyes on the floor. It took Al a moment to realize that he was afraid.

He was afraid of the general.

He wasn't afraid of the alchemists, he wasn't even afraid to die, but he was afraid of the general. Hakuro didn't miss it, eyeing the boy even as he took the papers from Russ and rifled through them. He didn't say anything about the letter Russ had stuffed away, either he hadn't been close enough to overhear or he thought it was still in the pile.

"Dr. Murly has cleared the suspect for interrogation. Sergeant, please escort the lieutenant colonel and his prisoner back and . . ." He trailed off, more attention now for the papers than Sorn, and Al paused, unsure if he should wait for the general to finish giving orders and damn certain he wanted to know what was on the those pages. Russ wasn't looking his way, obviously concerned about the fact that Falman had left Fletch unattended, even for a moment. He had eyes only for the door, and when they widened Al turned back for the door himself.

Of course. It stood to reason that if Falman had indeed gone to call Mustang, he wouldn't be long.

The Prime Minister, flanked by Hawkeye, entered the crowded cell room. He glanced into the cell, taking everything in before turning not to Sorn or to him but to Russell. Russ shook his head.

"We were too late."

Mustang looked towards the body again, and something clicked in Al's mind.

'So he wouldn't have to.'

Patterson had meant Mustang. He'd killed himself so Mustang wouldn't have to order him executed.

"I see your network is just as good as mine," the general observed, though his tone was less biting than usual. He held out one of the sheets of paper. "This appears to be addressed to you."

Mustang accepted it, staring at Patterson a moment more before glancing down at the letter. Al watched his face, ever impassive, before he discarded the paper with an irritated flick of his wrist. A snap burned it to ash in midair, and the wind from the brief flame disbursed the few still-glowing bits into the concrete dust.

The general didn't look surprised. "Do you wish to dispose of the rest of the evidence as well, Prime Minister?"

Roy didn't look at him, and his tone was dangerously neutral. "I saw no reason to keep a record of such nonsense, General. I look forward to your summary of the remaining documents within the hour."

Hakuro inclined his head sharply, and then his steely gaze fell on Alphonse. "Escort him to his cell, lieutenant colonel. Determine how he was able to escape and suggest an alternate restraint method. Until then he will be placed under full sedation."

Sorn actually jumped beneath Al's hands, but he never looked up, not at the general, not at Mustang. Al glanced at Mustang, keeping his expression mild, and he got the same impassive look in return. He waited only long enough for Roy to contradict those orders, which he didn't do, and then he propelled the weak-kneed boy from the cell room.

The march back to his cell seemed to take years, and twice the teen stumbled. Al shook his head at the sergeant following them once he entered Sorn's cell room, and the soldier obediently waited by the door.

Franklin had started to shake again, but he didn't resist, actually walking under his own power to the alchemist's chair. He sat gingerly, staring at his lap, and Al sighed. The cuffs were gone, just ingredients on the floor, so obviously he'd used alchemy. If he could complete a circle using someone else's body-

Or maybe just an alchemist's body? Was it sort of like fighting over the same ingredients, and if he'd resisted, Franklin wouldn't have been able to do it?

"How'd you get out?"

Sorn was silent for a long time. "I used my foot."

So he also successfully completed a circle using his hand and foot. Which should have been manacled as well, but he could see both the ankle locks were still intact.

"Why weren't your feet bound?"

"The doctor forgot after they put me back," was the inflectionless answer.

For some reason, the change in him infuriated Al, and he acted instinctively. All his stress and frustration bubbled out of him and he stepped forward and slapped the boy, hard. Franklin accepted the blow, not turning his face back though his head had hit the back of the chair sharply, and the guard at the door stepped forward.

"L-lieutenant colonel, you can't-"

"Live with it!" he snarled at the teen. "The doc took the wrong way out, do you hear me? You want to fix things? You want to make it right? Then you stop dwelling on what you've done and you do something about it! Stop others from doing what you did! Save lives instead of taking them!"

Sorn remained frozen in the chair, and that only made him angrier. "You have an obligation to those people, Franklin, and only a coward would run from it. You're an alchemist. Start acting like one."

By the time he got ahold of his anger, the teen had dropped his head slightly and started to shake again. "I'm sorry. About Edward."

Al turned away from him in disgust, clapping his hands and reforming the manacles around the teen's unresisting wrists. "You'll be sorrier when he gets ahold of you."

The boy's breath caught, and Al was afraid he'd gotten the bindings a little too tight when Franklin looked at him, met his eyes directly. "You . . . you don't know . . .?"

Al hesitated, registering the entry of several other people to the room without looking at them. Sorn was staring at him in surprise, but also dread. What could he have possibly overheard . . .? He'd left Ed and Win only a couple hours ago, nii-san was fine-

Al stepped back and allowed the soldiers entry into the cell, and Dr. Murly himself passed him without so much as an apologetic look, a loaded syringe in his hand.

"You're going to feel a brief sting, my boy, but it will fade quickly."

Franklin flinched at the shot, but didn't stop staring at Alphonse. "He . . . he was shot. He's dead."

Al frowned at the teen as the doctor stepped back, looking curiously between the two of them. "Lieutenant colonel, you really shouldn't be in here-"

"Edward's fine," Al interrupted quietly. "Havoc just winged him. He's fine."

Something unreadable crossed Sorn's face, but the drug acted quickly, and in moments his eyelids had slid closed and his head was nodding forward. Al ignored the doctor's continuing protests, approaching Sorn to secure the ankle braces, and then he exited the cell.

The sergeant and two other soldiers were standing in the door, all clearly uncomfortable, and he focused on the one that had followed them down the hall.

"Are you one of the guards assigned to Sorn?"

The sergeant swallowed. "Yessir! But, sir-"

"How did he find out about Patterson?"

The sergeant hesitated, and the corporal beside him took a step forward. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must follow me at once!"

"Answer the question. How did the suspect hear about Patterson's injury?"

"Sir! Please follow me to the General!"

Still irritated, and vaguely rattled, he impatiently gestured for them to move. Oddly, the sergeant and the other soldier waited from him to pass before flanking him, and they didn't change their positions for the march back to Patterson's cell. Hakuro was still there, and the corporal walked right up to him and saluted.

"General, sir!"

Hakuro was watching another doctor Al didn't recognize examining the body, and while Mustang was nowhere to be seen, Hawkeye was still in the cell. She gave Al a soft look, and he gave her a quiet nod. He really did need to apologize to her, it was probably on Mustang's order she'd tried to get him out of there like that, and he knew she meant well and cared a great deal about them both.

But now was obviously not the time.

The general gave first the corporal, then him, a sharp look. "Yes?"

The corporal hesitated. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric struck the suspect while returning him to his cell, sir!"

Al raised his eyebrow - was that what this was about? And if so, why bring it directly to the general's attention-

Hakuro's expression closed off. "I see. Lieutenant colonel, is this true?"

Al considered, then nodded. "Yes sir."

"Corporal, you are dismissed. I want this room cleared. Lieutenant colonel, a word."

Al watched the room empty quickly at the general's order, even the colonel. She looked troubled, closing the door behind her, and Al stared at the general, confused. Of all the people to get bent out of shape over a slap-

"I've given you pretty free rein down here," Hakuro started, voice controlled. "Surely you noticed the activity around Sorn's cell of late?"

He didn't see where it was going - technically Mustang was the one giving him rein, but he nodded.

"The suspect was treated improperly by his original guard. Abusing suspects or prisoners is a very serious offense."

Al blinked, digesting that, and the general looked at him squarely.

"Is he a suicide risk?"

Completely nonplussed, Al stuttered. "Uh-well, sir, I-"

"Why did you hit him?"

He exhaled sharply. "He escaped to help Dr. Patterson, I'm sure-"

"Alphonse, you are looking at a dishonorable discharge and a decade in prison. Please answer me plainly."

Hakuro didn't look or sound angry, but he was deadly serious, and Al fought to find the words least likely to make things harder on the teen. ". . . yes. He's a suicide risk. I hit him because he just tried to kill himself performing human transmutation on Dr. Patterson."

The general pursed his lips, glancing back into the cell. "Would he have succeeded if you and Major Tringum had let him?"

Which was the same as admitting he was an expert on the subject, but somehow Al knew better than to hedge. "Probably not Patterson lost too much blood. It might have been effective for a few moments, but in the end he would have died again."

"And this effort would certainly have killed Sorn?"

"Absolutely."

Hakuro sighed, and Al realized he no longer was holding the papers Patterson had left behind. "Your actions make it impossible for me to interrogate the suspect until he has been re-evaluated by a military physician. Hawkeye gave the boy her personal assurances that it wouldn't happen again. Is he aware of the reason you struck him?"

If he remembered, after that overdose-happy Murly was done with him. "I verbally expressed my disappointment with him."

The general's mouth quirked in a smile. "An Elric answer if ever I heard one." He was silent, thinking things over, and something clicked.

"If you meant to interrogate him, why did you order him put under full sedation? He escaped only because the physician didn't secure him properly in the alchemist's chair."

The general's smile returned, a bit wider. "As perceptive as your brother. Though I suppose Fullmetal would have hit him more than once." Hakuro turned back to him. "Do you think your talk did him any good? Can I expect another attempt to take his own life?"

That was something he didn't feel qualified to say. "I don't know. I hope not. I doubt he'll use Patterson's method if he does, but he obviously regrets what he's done." Not that he expected simple regret was going to give Franklin any sort of defense in his upcoming trial.

The general nodded. "You are relieved of your duties until further notice. You are restricted to your home and the HQ hospital, your travelling papers are henceforth suspended, and you will make yourself available to the MPs at any time for questioning. An inquiry board will be set up to determine your punishment within the week. Dismissed."

Al brought his heels together and saluted, letting nothing else give away his irritation, and it dissolved completely into confusion when the general's smile hadn't disappeared.

"And Alphonse? Thank you."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, now we have a problem, don't we? Mustang's plan to get them out is obviously not going to work. Patterson left something behind, and Hakuro's being even more sneaky than usual. Al is now directly in trouble with Hakuro, and with Ed's own court martial and possibly soon-to-be-discovered intact arm and leg . . . okay, I'll stop teasing.. ; ) Next chapter will answer pretty much all those questions - what Hakuro's really up to, what Patterson left in the letters, and maybe even some resolution between Mustang and Al.

If you notice any typos, please let me know! You can throw bricks now. ; \


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

_You won't agree, I'm sure, but looking back most of our disagreements have ended in your best interest. The enclosed papers include everything I've discovered since my partnership with Avram Blane. I don't put a lot of stock into reputation, and I have no favors to ask. I think your disappointment will probably be all you need to leverage these confessions to every advantage._

Utter nonsense.

It was a slow-burning anger, one long experience told him wasn't going away anytime soon, and Roy Mustang tossed his jacket onto the back of his chair, staring at his desk for quite a while before he realized it was much cleaner than usual.

This usually meant Challiel knew he was about to be meeting a dignitary. However, since his calendar was in plain sight on the upper left corner of his desk, he could see that wasn't the case. He had a one hour recess and then was scheduled to be right back in the chambers.

He took his seat stiffly, looking over what remained. All important, all needing review and not just a signature. He worked his way through about twenty of them, a good seven from Hakuro himself, trying to slip something by in his distracted state. At a quarter after the hour, Challiel appeared with his lunch and a cup of tea, and he nodded his thanks, gesturing at the mostly clean desk.

"Your mind was cluttered, sir," she told him matter-of-factly, taking the silvered lid from his platter and letting the trapped steam escape before placing it almost directly on top of the next document. "This and clearing your calendar for an hour was all I could do. Please eat this time. I have a four year old with better habits than you, Minister."

He accepted the chiding without comment, and she waited until he'd actually taken a bite of chicken before she left him. She was right and wrong at the same time; it was easy to crave mindless distraction when problems weighed too heavily on his mind. One of the reasons he had excelled in the military, as it was filled with triplicate forms and meritless approvals. But the fact that he could see desk made the task manageable, and maybe that was what she was getting at.

Too little too late. Someone else had already made it manageable.

Mustang pushed away from both the desk and his lunch, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together and letting his head fall onto the back of the chair. That bastard had taken everything right out of his hands. His revised confession included providing information to all the assassins, effectively taking away any reason to suspect Sorn. The order they'd found, scheduling the catastrophe drill in West, could be used in Sorn's defense or never tied back to him at all. The human transmutation charge could be argued, could always have been argued, but Patterson admitted now that it would have been possible to resuscitate Fletcher, and only four minutes would have elapsed before the paralytic was completely broken down, as he'd mixed it that way and there was no evidence to the contrary.

Sorn had never directly attacked him. As of that morning, all charges relating to conspiracy, espionage, and treason had been dropped by the prosecutor.

And all of this without a single page of written confession from Sorn. Between his original guard and Alphonse Elric, by the time Franklin had decided to talk, everything he said was protected by the State coercion clause. There was no record of Sorn contradicting any of it. The only thing Timothy Patterson hadn't managed to do was make sure that Franklin Sorn would actually go along with it.

Go along with blaming Patterson for almost everything he'd done.

Oh, Sorn was still going to face scrutiny for mining the Incomplete Stone, unregistered chimera, and somehow being involved with the Cretian army. He was pretty sure he could count on Fullmetal to give the boy a good alibi, Edward was still obviously feeling guilty for being unable to make the redhead disappear. His attempt at escape once in State custody could be explained as a desire to protect the State, or he could bargain with Hakuro to stifle the abuse Sorn suffered at the hands of his guards in exchange for watering down the facts. The piece of Craege Irving under his library could have been being kept for research purposes, not the first time an alchemist kept something illegally for that reason, and no one could prove that the traps Franklin had laid were not for Blane. Fear of the man could have driven almost everything Franklin had done.

No matter what Hakuro knew, he was limited to what he could prove.

As long as the redhead didn't throw away Patterson's sacrifice, the worst he would get was some jail time. Probably not even very much. That and fines he knew the boy could pay. And thanks to additional details, mostly medical in nature, the evidence against Blane for terrorism was more iron-clad than ever.

Excellent headlines, too. The people would get to see the mastermind assassin executed and know that the other partner, consumed with guilt, took his own life in a cold, spartan prison cell.

Both bodies would be cremated and buried in unmarked graves. Open and shut.

No threat to his people. No organizing rebels to stage a breakout. No hiding fugitives, no smuggling them to Xing. No need for Franklin to run at all.

Mustang remained where he was, quietly examining the texture of his gloves, and at a quarter till the hour, Challiel re-entered the office and issued her first-ever threat.

"Minister, if you don't want to finish your meal, may I present it to Black Hayate?"

- x -

No matter how guilty it felt, it also felt good, and knowing it wasn't the best thing for his brother, knowing it might even hurt him, he leaned hard on the offered shoulder, wondering what transmutation he could use to make it stop.

Ed didn't need this. He was hurt. He shouldn't have been out of his bed. He shouldn't have gone to the hospital until he was sure, _sure_ that he had control of himself and could explain everything concisely. This was going to raise nii-san's blood pressure. Upset him. Dr. Dalyell had warned them against upsetting him, it was bad for his heart, hadn't Russell just finished telling him not to let nii-san strain himself? The anger surged upwards but came out as a sob, and his frustration only grew worse.

"I'm fine, nii-san-"

"I know." His tone was easy and low, and he slipped a flesh arm around him. Al's stomach churned as he realized that Edward had gone out in the hallway. Standing. When they transferred him to therapy he was wrapped in blankets in a wheelchair. Now he was in only boxers. People could have seen him. Seen his flesh arm and leg.

"You idiot," he chided, picking up his head to see Ed watching him, half a sad smile on his face. "You could have been seen."

Edward shrugged in that eloquent way of his. "Eh, I've been seen anyway. Only reason I can think of Hakuro hasn't been beating down the door to get a report out of me." His expression softened a little and Al felt more bitter guilt, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to move away.

Ed didn't need this, but he did.

"Can I help?"

And that was all it took. Every bit of composure he'd scrounged together since leaving the MPs was gone. It was bad enough that Winry had caught him in the hall, if she just hadn't touched him he'd have been fine, but she had, and she deserved to know, he didn't tell her before for the same reason Mustang hadn't told him and that made him just as bad and just as conflicted but this was completely different-

Alphonse Elric growled, wiping his face angrily. He couldn't even _think_ straight! "No. You can't. I'm sorry, nii-san. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You're upset," Ed told him matter-of-factly, and then lifted his chin. This was a signal to Winry; moments later a tissue floated into his line of sight, and Al accepted it, releasing his brother to wipe his nose. Ed kept a hand on his shoulder, though, and Al wanted to curl up around it and cry until his eyeballs fell out.

Unfortunately, he wasn't nine. And with everything else they'd been through, it was so strange to be this upset by something so commonplace. People died every day.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He crumpled the tissue and shook his head at Win as she tried to ply another one on him. "I'm - I didn't mean to be this upset when I told you." Al grabbed Winry's half-outstretched hand and tugged it so that the three of them were all sitting on the side of Ed's hospital bed. "Patterson . . . he died. Last night."

Winry pressed her lips together but didn't immediately tear up, and Edward squeezed his shoulder. "What happened?"

"He did it himself. He left some letters and Russ thinks a new confession." It was hard to be still. "Russ and I got there, but there wasn't much to be done. He knew we were around, so . . . he planned accordingly."

Maybe that was why it hurt so much. That the doc had had to go to the trouble to kill himself in such a way that he could be sure he couldn't be brought back, instead of a thousand more comfortable methods. He was so terrified, of dying, of living and being faced with the decision to do it all over again-

"Russ had some ingredients, but not enough to make up the blood loss. He woke up briefly, but-"

Winry's hand crept into his, holding it tight. "Oh, Al-"

"He say anything?" Ed's voice was strangely calm, and Al didn't dare look at his face.

"Yeah." He said he was scared. He said it hurt. He said he was going to Hell. "He said he was sorry. He wanted to know what he'd see."

The softest snort from Ed. "You tell him?"

Al folded his lips into a smile, scratching the stubble on his cheek as the tears tickled through it. "I did."

"That's good. I'm glad you got the chance, Al."

Al suppressed another sob. "I . . . I just don't know if he heard-"

If he believed. If when he stood at the Gate he honestly believed that he'd been forgiven, or that he deserved to be ripped to pieces. The Gate would lead anywhere if you were strong enough to ask. If his self-loathing consumed him, if he honestly thought he deserved to go to hell . . . then he could ask for it, and the beings in the Gate would oblige.

He hadn't been trying to save Patterson's life. He'd tried to save his soul.

And he would never know if he managed it or not.

"He heard." Ed cleared his throat, and Al felt his brother's arm hook around his neck and drag him close. "You did good, little brother."

Somehow just letting himself go for a few minutes was better than all the breathing exercises he'd done before, and it was much easier to calm down. If Den had been around it might have seemed like old-old times, three orphans on the eve of someone's death, and Al leaned up off his brother quickly, blinking furry eyes and squinting at the equipment. Despite the news, Ed's heart rate hadn't climbed significantly, and he wasn't surprised to see that nii-san's face was dry.

His eyes were sad but bright. "Thanks for telling us as soon as you could."

It might have been a subtle barb, that he'd noticed Al's absence from his water therapy this morning, and Al took a deep, still-shaky breath. "Sorry about this morning. They kept me and Russ quite a long time." Al far longer, of course, to work out his motives for striking a prisoner, but while Ed might be able to take a friend's suicide in stride for his sake, mention of Hakuro's meddling would be pushing things too far. He wasn't even sure if Hakuro had thanked him for preventing them from getting a confession or giving him a reason to yank his State Alchemist title.

"Oh, but you missed the excitement," Edward teased. "I didn't take a nap _in_ the pool this time." His assumed cheerfulness slowly faded. "I won't break, Al. I'll be okay."

Al glanced at him, a little unsure. Did Ed think he was -

He got that damnable empty smile. "I know. That you heard the rumor, before . . . I'm not gonna die, Al. At least not yet."

Alphonse fought the urge to pull him into a tight hug and tell him how terrifying and infuriating and overwhelming and empty those few hours had been, and instead punched him in the arm half-heartedly. "Big talk for someone who's only got two weeks." His brother blinked at him, and he tried for a wicked look. "That's how long I have to wait before I beat the living daylights out of you."

His grin wasn't empty this time, but it still hurt to look at. "Winry beat you to it."

She'd been silently watching the two of them, rubbing his hand, and when she heard that she squeaked indignantly. "Hey, I didn't-"

"I saw," Al interrupted dryly, and both of them stuttered to an uncomfortable halt. He let the silence drag on until it was downright _hysterical_, but eventually relented when Ed's heart rate started to climb. "Hey, I approve. About time someone got Winry to sleep. I was thinking about mixing up some chloroform."

He turned from Ed when Winry snatched her hand away, but all of them were laughing, and she impulsively threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Before she could say anything that might make him break down again, he added, "If I'd known you were that hard up, Win, I'd have asked Havoc to date you years ago-"

She screeched, but of course he had her caught in his arms, and all she could do was beat him on the shoulders. Which she could do pretty effectively, actually, and he'd never seen her so red-faced. "ALPHONSE ELRIC, HOW DARE YO-"

"Hey, whoa, hospital voice-"

"WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE JUST BARG-"

"No kidding, that would've been exercise and then Dr. 'I'll yell' would have been peeping next to this perver-"

"YOU SHUT UP TOO, YOU LUNK-HEADED JER-"

Alphonse snaked a hand over her mouth, at least muffling the rest of her tirade. "I'm kidding, Winry. Sorry."

Her glare was smoldering. "Zeh ell yehsery."

"Now look what you've done, Al," Ed complained good-naturedly, and he heard his brother settle back against his pillows again. "I actually figured you stayed out late celebrating with the Major General and had a hangover. How was it?"

When Winry gave him silent assent that she wouldn't continue screaming, he let her go, and she socked him in the chest - hard. He oofed and pressed his hand to it as if wounded, and she flounced off the bed and busied herself with folding something. Probably just to hide her blush. Al stayed where he was. "It was nice. He cried-"

"Big surprise-"

"Well, no, actually, he didn't cry at the ceremony. At the dinner, his mother and father toasted him-" forever and ever and _ever_ -"but it was his sister that got him."

Ed hmmed thoughtfully. "Haven't seen much of her. She threatened to kill him if she caught him crying again, though-"

Al grimaced. "Yes. We know."

His brother stared at him for a moment in surprise. "She doesn't seem like the type that would do that in front of the military-"

"Well, General Hakuro didn't say anything . . . Alex is fine. At least I assume he's fine. Russ and I split after the violence to check up on Fletcher . . . " He trailed off, not sure where else to go with it, and watched his brother's gold eyes cloud again.

It was hard to tell who he was more sad for, and that pang of guilt stabbed at the place Winry had hit him. "He asked about you. The rest of Mustang's guys were there too, even Fuery."

At the mention of the diminutive man Edward perked up. "In uniform?"

". . . yes . . . any reason he wouldn't be?"

Ed shook his head. "No, I just knew he'd asked for reinstatement. Wasn't sure if it had been granted."

Outside of the fact that there were probably ten year olds in Amestris that day that outweighed him, he seemed okay. Relieved. Hopeful. Very happy for Alex. Breda had been his usual self, and Havoc a bit more reserved than usual. Too bad Falman missed the fun. "I think he's gonna be okay. Breda too. He's got his appetite back, certainly."

"Good." Ed leaned slightly to his right. "You going to rejoin the conversation anytime soon, Winry?"

She turned with narrowed eyes, still smoothing a folded blanket, but otherwise seemed her usual cheerful self. Pinako was probably thrilled that Ed was there, actually; it gave Winry something to do besides hover. The fact that Pinako had not been checked out of the hospital when she was supposed to be spoke loudly to her current condition, and Al made a mental note to go speak to her the next time he could be sure Winry wouldn't be around.

"I'm glad Fuery is better." It was quite sincere. "Actually, I was thinking about your automail."

Al watched his brother balk. Though he had just said that he expected Hakuro already knew about the flesh limbs, and that was probably true - more ammunition for his court martial, at any rate. "W-Winry, I don't see how I could-"

"If you think it's too late, then we need to get them out of here," she told him matter-of-factly. "It will be worse if you tried to hide it, right?" She eyed the cabinet. "If only I had the Tringums around again . . . I guess you'll have to do, Al."

He felt his eyebrows raise at her disappointed tone. "Well, gee, Win, if I'm not gonna cut it I'm pretty sure Russ and Fletch are getting out soon, and I wouldn't want to make a mess of your work-"

"Are they really?"

He nodded, finally standing and giving his brother a pat on the knee before following her to the cabinet. "Maybe as early as tomorrow." But she was right, as soon as Hakuro had the trial out of the way they couldn't count on continuing to skirt by under his radar. Particularly not with his own court martial upcoming.

Ed was going to kill him for not telling him. "So, what would you like you relief slave alchemist to make for you? A nice doll?"

Her glare spoke volumes. "How about a self-portrait - maybe try another pig?"

"Ha ha, very funny."

- x -

He could have been Bradley, standing there.

There was no breath of wind from the opened window, nothing differentiated him from something cut of limestone and washed with paint. His clasped hands were loose, giving nothing away, and they did not tighten at her approach. He'd summoned her specifically so she hadn't seen any need to knock or announce herself, but watching him now, she really wasn't sure he knew she was there.

He couldn't see anything out of that window anymore. Not since Johann Irving.

It wasn't hard to imagine what he was thinking about. The court had recessed only an hour ago, maybe less. Sorn would be sworn in and interrogated tomorrow, as Avram Blane had been today. The ruling wasn't going to be a surprise on two counts - Patterson's confessions were as detailed and probable as his lies had been before. Avram Blane had managed to keep his temper only until he'd seen Russell Tringum up in the 'loft;' the elder Tringum was present only because he could soon be called for questioning in regards to Blane's capture, and something about him had tipped the visibly conflicted alchemist right over the edge.

He didn't incriminate himself - far too oily for that. Instead he'd attempted to redirect the court to human transmutation and his own attempts to fix the virus he was wrongly accused of spreading himself. When the Speaker attempted to thwart the tangents the man had become incensed and accused the Parliament and Prime Minister of a witch hunt, attacking non-certified alchemists in an effort to keep alchemy skills only within the military's ranks. He eventually was led out of the room when he started personally singling out and attacking Parliament officials and judges. His failure to cooperate had not left a favorable impression with the court, and what Patterson had left in the documents that had been copied and provided to all judges had given them the means to logically counter most of Blane's spin.

His questioning would finish tomorrow, but his fate was already sealed. He would likely never admit to what he had done in the hopes his rabid insistence of his innocence would buy him some credibility, thus a less serious sentence, but it was extremely unlikely. By the end of the week he would likely be put to death.

And that was a death she knew Mustang would not regret. Executing someone was different from killing them in combat, but in this case there was no real moral difference. If released there was no telling how many he would kill in retaliation, or to hide his escape. It was simply a shame they could not place the blame solely with him.

Mustang hadn't said what was in the letter Patterson had left him. It was far more likely that was what was bothering him, the idea that Patterson could not trust him enough to handle this, and had chosen to handle it himself. Perhaps it was simply the idea that even when he presented his true self, his true intent, that anyone would fail to trust him.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

No movement at all by the window. "Challiel tells me Black Hayate ate well today."

"Your current habits are spoiling my dog, Minister. I'm going to have to formally request that you desist."

"Duly noted." A long pause, but still, his fingers never so much as twitched. "Have you completed your revised threat assessment against this office?"

As it would likely be required in the trials at some point, it had been completed the same day it had been requested. "Yessir. It-" Her eyes slid over the polished wood and oiled leather writing pad. "-was on your desk . . ."

"I see. My apologies then, for misplacing it. Can you summarize it for me please?"

For a brief, ridiculous moment she wondered whose face she would see if she marched to the window and pulled him around. "All previous attacks on this administration have been investigated and traced back to the two men accused. It appears all previously marked enemies have been identified and are being monitored. West confirms Creta has sent an emissary who should be in Central by noon tomorrow, and Aerugo has made no hostile intentions clear." For all intents and purposes, the danger he'd been facing all this time was effectively contained.

A damn pity it had taken her a year to get it done, but at least he hadn't been killed. Or lost the war.

"I see. That's quite an achievement, colonel."

Her eyes narrowed slightly in the darkening office. "Thank you, sir."

"Given the lowered threat status, do you believe a separate security detail is necessary for my continued safety, or is it possible that the State-mandated service currently protecting the Speaker and other cabinet members would suffice?"

Hawkeye relaxed her tightening throat. "I would recommend that you keep Goodman and Brooks, sir. They are very capable and extremely adept at handling politically sensitive matters."

The smallest trace of a smile in his rising cheekbones. "You've completed that investigation as well, then?"

They'd been on her list, too, but nothing Sheska had found gave her any reason to doubt. "It would appear that Brook's actions on the day of the attack on the Cretian diplomat were merely an overreaction, sir." An overreaction to protect her.

Not unlike what was going on right now.

"I see." He gave the window a last, long look, then turned, his left eye to her and right peering around the bridge of his nose. "Then it appears your assignment is complete, colonel. Please make your recommendations for my personal guard to the appropriate parties in the morning. Upon the completion of the trials and verdicts, I will be making a formal announcement." Which would bolster confidence in the government, of course, that the added security on the Prime Minister had been lifted, and was also a boldfaced excuse for his real purpose.

"Sir, I think that might be in haste-"

"Riza, how long has it been now? Eleven years? Twelve?"

She carefully didn't grit her teeth. "I'm not sure what you're asking, sir."

"I've really known you longer than Havoc," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's been a long time since Ishbal."

She hesitated, and he faced her fully, his expression unusually kind. "Where are you standing, colonel?"

Damn him. Damn him for seeing it as an obligation. "With all due respect, sir, the Creta situation could turn on a dime-"

"Which I assume you took into consideration in your report-"

"And both Edward and Alphonse Elric are facing intense scrutiny-"

"Are you saying Hakuro can use them to attack me?"

"Of course!" She took a step forward, hating him more with every passing second. "Don't-"

"You said you'd follow me to the top, you'd help me get here." He unclasped his hands, waving one at the office. "I never asked you to help me stay here."

"Mustang-"

"Hear me out. You've spent the last thirteen years of your life working for this. You've met your goal, haven't you?" He tucked his hands into his pockets, all arrogance and exactly the man she'd sighed at as a first lieutenant. "You didn't join the military to help me. You've gotten me as far as you could."

And now you have to trust me to do what I said I would. It was unspoken, possibly unthought, but she heard it ringing clearly in the air.

Of all the times to have this fight with him-

"You are occasionally an idiot," she told him evenly. "You cannot be trusted to operate successfully on your own."

She used it, the forbidden word, and she expected amusement, sarcasm, one of a dozen mechanisms he used to deflect such things from her, from Breda, from all of them. She knew it would hurt and she expected it to, inflicted on purpose because she would be damned before she let him do this-

But his expression didn't really change, his lips didn't quirk. "I'm beginning to see that."

For the first time in a long time she wasn't sure what to say to him. If this was just a crisis of faith it would be easy enough to handle, but something more than Patterson's death had to have precipitated it-

Alphonse Elric. He must have said something the day he walked out, she knew that from the way he'd treated her. Fuery's fidgeting in their meeting. Havoc's request for transfer and subsequent behavior. Breda's reaction to being left on administrative leave. Brook's move to save her from her own hostage, in the fear that she couldn't handle it herself and Mustang couldn't protect her. Juggling so much information and so many people that he couldn't be sure what they thought of him anymore.

Which boiled right back down to his fear of screwing up.

"We all operate with that understanding, Minister," she told him dryly. "Havoc chose to rescind his transfer without any input from me. The general asked him directly, and he made his own decision. We're under no obligation to follow you, and we're all well aware." His eye was too dark to make out in the dim, so it was difficult to tell how much to say. "You don't think we'd all walk away after we spent all this time working on you, do you?"

An arrogant smirk was his reply. "I'd hoped so. The alternative is actually issuing orders, and I don't want them to reflect poorly on your record."

It was like a slap in the face, one she supposed she deserved. "Well, a demotion, abandoning your command, and running to lick your wounds in the north doesn't appear to have hurt yours, sir. We'll take our chances."

She hated fighting with him, hated the shadows that hid how deeply she had struck. He was hard enough to judge after the eyepatch, then again after losing the rest of the eye, but he couldn't be so blind, it just wasn't possible-

"What power do you really think you have?"

She reeled at the deceptively curious question, barely preventing her jaw from hitting the floor. She'd hit him quite deep, then, if he'd come back with that.

"Colonel, your command will be dissolved at the end of the week. It's not chance, it's fact. I suggest you give serious thought to where you'd like your career to go from here. I don't believe Hakuro will interfere but I'd like to reduce that risk."

So that was the problem. She should have seen it - he was the reason she got Mustang back, after all. It was no surprise the threat of losing him again would leave a mark. "You can't both protect us and push us away, Mustang. Didn't you learn anything from Edward's execution?"

A barely perceptible stiffening of his carriage. His tone was still quite mild, though. "You've spoken out of turn, colonel."

She graced him with a glare. "You gave me an order to do so when necessary, Minister."

"I judge it to be unnecessary."

I don't give a damn what you judge, Roy Mustang. It almost left her mouth. Almost. "I respectfully suggest your judgment is not at its best, Minister, and that is precisely the reason we're having this conversation."

She heard a slight crack, bone shifting on bone, and she wasn't sure if it was her jaw or his. "Dismissed, colonel."

Riza saluted. "Good evening, sir." She turned on her heels and crossed the office, not bothering to hesitate as she pulled the doors closed behind her. He wouldn't call her back, at least not tonight. She'd made mistakes handling him like this before, and had erred toward compassion and understanding.

Unlike him, she wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Well, Mom and Dad certainly don't seem to be getting along . . . but on the plus side, Patterson managed to clean up most of the mess, didn't he. Makes you wonder, if that was Mustang's letter, what he might have said to Fletcher . . . also, I think I wrote myself into a great big plothole. :covers face: What I get for dragging this thing on, I think. The faster I write stuff the better I can keep complex things in my head, so now I am learning all about the art of not procrastinating. At your expense. \ Sorry, guys - if I need to retcon something I will, otherwise I think I'll try to weasel out of it quiet-like . . .


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"

He gave her a casual salute and offered the envelope. "Better late than never, right?"

Colonel Riza Hawkeye regarded it a moment before accepting it, unwinding the stamped string that sealed it. Not that she would have even believed a wax seal, if the delivery method was alchemist. Then again, it was probable Al had penned it in part or whole; he undoubtedly knew what it said.

"Are you ready for your court martial?"

Al dropped into the seat in front of her desk; obviously he felt this needed some explaining, then. "He deserved it."

She reviewed the document quickly, giving him a look over the edge of the papers. "Please tell me that's not your defense strategy."

Alphonse shrugged, and she raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it a little early for the sling to be gone?"

"Russ and Fletch do good work. It's still sore but it's better for me to be moving it around." He eyed her desk curiously. "I take it Creta told us to shove off?"

The colonel ignored her desk entirely, reading one particular passage several times to ensure she understood it entirely. "No, I'm fairly certain they'll agree to the treaty we sent. It wasn't entirely unconditional the second time around." She set the sheets down in surprise. "And he's certain?"

Alphonse nodded, his eyes warm and steady. "Yeah. Nii-san thinks it's time."

She couldn't agree more, but she knew both him and the Rockbell girl enough to realize it hadn't been an easy conclusion for him. "Did you and Sorn part on acceptable terms?"

"You mean will he tell the truth specifically because we need him to lie?" His tone was wry. "I don't know. Has anyone explained everything to him?" His voice lowered fractionally. "He didn't know nii-san was still alive."

Of course he would have mentioned _that_ to Alphonse. "His full sedation was lifted early this morning to prepare him for trial, and I answered his questions. He knows more than he did." As did she. "Dr. Patterson left a letter for him, but it has not yet been released to him. As of now he is aware that Patterson revised his confession, and aware of those revisions. He filled in the gaps so we know what he had done and what Patterson had merely inferred from Blane's comments." She patted the top sheet of paper. "This shouldn't be too much of a stretch." Considering it dealt with an imaginary Philosopher's Stone and human transmutation.

Al looked surprised. "Hakuro let you?"

She thinned her lips. "He had the sedation lifted earlier than scheduled. I arrived at the end of his interview and Franklin did confirm that he already spoke to the general about Fullmetal. He can't easily recall what was said, he's still quite groggy, but I think we can count on the fact that the general is aware that Edward recovered his limbs prior to the Creta invasion."

It really didn't matter - Edward was going to be charged with human transmutation no matter the story. They could have attempted a coverup if Edward had truly wanted one, and for a price she was certain the general would have allowed it. It gave him the perfect piece of blackmail to use whenever he liked. The distinction came between the idea that he'd done it with premeditation and study or he'd done it accidentally. Edward's court martial would mark the first time the military charged someone with accidental human transmutation, and his record, while pardoned by the Prime Minister himself, was not spotless. Mustang could make it disappear if he wanted to, but it would probably cost him control of the National Alchemists.

Al did a good job of looking unconcerned. "So he'll know that Franklin is lying on the stand today, if he chooses to lie."

She inclined her head. "Yes." Though the lie would be small; with the way this debriefing read, Edward was struck by an artillery round when his makeshift fort was attacked, and as he was trying to transmute the tunnel to get them both out of there he reacted instinctively to the pain by utilizing the amplifier by will alone. Bradley's files documented instances where alchemists had utilized Incomplete Stone without arrays, so they could back up the claim that Ed had done it entirely on accident. His automail was buried somewhere in that field, probably never to be seen again, and the enemy had captured him without it, leading him to lie and claim to be Russell Tringum, but later confirmed to be Edward Elric by his unique eye color and reports of the surviving scouting wave that he'd had automail.

All Sorn had to do was say that he'd been knocked briefly unconscious in the explosion and had woken in the dark, not realizing Edward had his limbs restored until he witnessed the other being interrogated by the enemy. There was nothing concrete to prove this lie; the armor itself was long gone, and they had Major General Armstrong's firm commitment that her men would not contradict that story. It didn't matter what the Cretians said - Amestris would call it propaganda and her people would believe it. By the time the trial today was finished they would be celebrating their alchemists, two of which held off an entire army for a day.

This was not likely to go over well with the general, but there was little he could do about it. That didn't worry her; he wasn't going to use Franklin as an excuse to pull the alchemists away from Mustang. He'd use the Elrics.

And it wasn't her concern anymore, by order of the Prime Minister.

"Then I guess he's going to have a bad day," Al concluded, sitting a little more upright. "There's something else. I'm sorry for the scene I made a few days back. I know what you were doing," he spoke over her attempted interruption, "and I know I would have done the same in your place. Please forgive me."

"I don't know what you're referring to," she replied briskly, tucking the papers back into the envelope. "This is the briefing Edward wishes released to the military, correct?"

Al was giving her that look, a little exasperation, a little relief, a lot of gratitude. "I'm serious here."

She raised an eyebrow. "As am I. Please wait here; I believe the Prime Minister has a document he wishes your opinion on."

A subtle tightening of the skin around his eyes. "Then he can ask me himself."

He was frighteningly observant sometimes. "He is very busy at the moment."

"And going to be busier after your reassignment." Alphonse dragged his gaze across her desk. "I see he was generous enough to let you have your pick."

She knew she'd invited the scrutiny when she'd refused to answer his question directly, and given him everything he needed to draw the correct conclusion, but she also knew exactly what was going to happen if she didn't head it off immediately. "There's no reason for him to have a dedicated security force. The threat has been eliminated, and this demonstrates the government's confidence in that. He'll keep Goodman and Brooks, but they will be managed by the Parliament security chief."

Al's eyes, the rare color of baklava, were saddened, and it annoyed her. "He doesn't deserve you."

"It's not your concern, Alphonse. I would be worrying about your own career, if I were you."

An oddly Edward-like twist adorned his lips when he answered, and she realized there was no heading him off. It had probably been his intention the moment he'd walked into her office, then, that his next stop would be Mustang. "Why should I be worried? Mustang won't let me resign, and he won't let me be discharged. I could flatten this building and that wouldn't change."

"Alphonse-"

He climbed to his feet, looking very amused. "I'm not going to flatten the building, Hawkeye-"

"He has trial in less than an hour-"

"Perfect." The blond was halfway out the door. "Then he has time to ask me my opinion."

She stood quickly, following him as best she could without looking like she was running, but when she got to the door of her office she hesitated. Though he wasn't nearly as goofy, and they weren't nearly as close, she had failed to fill that vacancy and while she doubted Alphonse was really ready for it, maybe Roy would listen if it came from one of the Elrics.

Or maybe Alphonse really was going to flatten the building.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said quietly, and then Alphonse had crossed the outer office. Challiel gave her a questioning look, hand on the phone, but she shook her head.

It wasn't her job to keep Mustang in that office. All she'd had to do was get him there.

- x -

Goodman was giving him a peculiar look and Al grinned at him disarmingly, approaching the door as always. Usually Challiel called ahead, but this time he didn't hear the phone and when the older man's eyes flicked behind him Al knew he was looking to either the colonel or Challiel for direction. He still let him approach, far too close, before casually stepping in front of the door.

Far too late.

Al struck with his right arm, which hurt like hell but was unexpected enough to make Goodman dodge rather than block, and that got him access to the doorknob. He stepped in, blocking a retaliatory swing with his left forearm and an attempted sweep with his right leg. Goodman was fast; he'd always expected it, but neither of them was fighting seriously yet and he doubted this was all the man was capable of.

He'd brushed his fingertips together on the walk across the outer office and grazed the other's uniform as he wound around his opponent, who was trying to get between him and the door again. Goodman just didn't have room; he'd practically let Al open the damn door before he'd made up his mind. Instantly all the cotton on his body bound upon itself, all but mummifying him, and Al opened the door quickly, slipping through before Brooks could get off a shot. He was pretty sure someone was going to take a shot at him - Hawkeye would have done it already, but he'd been right about that too.

That must have been one hell of a fight.

Unsurprisingly, the use of alchemy significantly upped the ante for Goodman, who despite his massive size and limited mobility snaked into the doorframe as well, blocking it open for his colleagues. Which was a bit of a problem, and Al conceded, grabbing his collar with his left arm and hauling him bodily into the room. He kicked the door closed, transmuting it solidly into the doorframe and wall as something thumped against it. He completed the transmutation as quickly as possible - it was necessarily to get everything the same thickness, and it allowed him to seal all the other doorways and windows as well, but he didn't want to make it obvious. The walls were thick; there was shouting but it was believably muffled. At Mustang's desk they could probably ignore it altogether.

It did mean there would be a witness, which was unfortunate, and Al glanced across the office, just to get his bearings on the Flame Alchemist.

He was standing behind his desk, plain white glove at the ready, and his pen had just finished rolling to the edge of the desk. It fell with a muffled plunk onto the carpeting.

"They're not ready," he said, loudly enough to carry across the space between them. Then he clapped, ignoring Mustang altogether and modifying Goodman's wrappings so that his ears were covered as well.

By the time he'd straightened Mustang still hadn't moved. "Have you lost your mind?"

"He should have gone for my shoulder. He thought about it too, but didn't." Al gave the infuriated bodyguard an apologetic smile, then walked calmly across the Prime Minister's office. "Assessing security was one of my jobs in Germany. You need to keep Hawkeye on, at least a little while longer."

Mustang looked supremely unamused, "Are you so unhappy with the military that you'll compound your prison term to ensure discharge?"

He didn't bother to salute before taking a seat in front of the Prime Minister's desk. This did not put Mustang at ease; the man remained standing, looking far angrier than Al had seen him in a long time. He'd aged ten years in the last few days, though his uniform was as crisp as ever. He didn't deserve Challiel, either. Though in truth the Academy didn't deserve Dueys or Bansk. "Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something to make this go away."

Roy's eye narrowed, and Al briefly wondered if maybe the other alchemist really would attack him. "What makes you think you're still worth the trouble?"

"If I wasn't, you'd have let me resign last year. We need to talk."

Mustang's dark eye flicked at the door, then glanced at his bookcases, and his expression grew downright wary. "You sealed all of them, didn't you."

"And reinforced the glass with manganese, just in case someone gets the bright idea of using smoke bombs. I really don't think Hawkeye would allow that," he added, "but then again she's pretty damn hurt right now, so I didn't want to take the chance."

The difference between angry and furious was a very hard one to tell in the office, and the hair on the back of Al's neck stood up when Mustang calmly retook his seat. "I see. What would you like to discuss that would have required these measures?"

"My State Alchemist certification." The thumping on the main door had stopped; they'd realized what they were up against. Hawkeye would keep a tight lid on this for as long as she could, and he hadn't changed the way the door looked from the outside, but he knew he didn't have all day. "Obviously you don't feel the ability to control inanimate objects is valuable to the military, so I felt I needed to demonstrate something a bit more traditional for you."

Mustang started to reply, then apparently thought better. "I'm well aware of your level of combat training, Alphonse. Including what was left out of your debriefing when you returned."

That was unfortunate but not a surprise, and Al didn't bother to posture. "I really don't think you are."

He received an arrogantly raised eyebrow. "What idiot do you think would believe that a well-organized military would place at the head of their training division a soldier that had not already demonstrated in the field the tactics he would be training others to use?"

"Nii-san."

The barest snort. "If you believe that he's better at lying than I thought."

Al really wasn't sure how much Ed really knew about what he'd done for the Germans. He'd certainly been surprised at what he'd found on Ed's side of things when it had all fallen apart, and it was probable both didn't know the entire story and never would. "And if you didn't believe it, then why would you send Edward to take care of Sorn, when you know I'm far better suited? I've killed thousands more than he has."

He had hoped for some level of surprise at his cavalier tone, but Mustang gave no visible sign. "You were injured, Alphonse."

"So was he."

"Your injury directly interfered with your alchemy."

"A concussion doesn't interfere with your ability to think on the fly, to concentrate?"

"You were both concussed," Roy countered, a bit of impatience in his voice. "This is not a conversation I am willing to rehash, Alphonse."

"He told you not to, didn't he."

"Yes." His tone indicated exactly what he thought about the question. "If you're unhappy about it take it up with him."

"You're the guy that deploys us, remember?"

"What do you want? An apology?" Far more impatient - something about this conversation was bothering Mustang a great deal. Al had glanced at Riza's calendar, still exposed over all the personnel manifests on her desk, and he'd had no meetings scheduled until trial resumed. This impatience wasn't solely based on time.

"The next time this happens, you send us both." Resigning wouldn't get him a damn thing, the best way for him to protect his brother was to go with him. It had worked when they were kids, and it would work now. "I know you've played enough chess to understand that you can't always protect the pieces you risk."

Though Mustang never moved, there was a marked change in him. "I will not be lectured on this topic by the likes of you, Alphonse. This conversation is over."

"Hughes wouldn't let it go here. And you wouldn't let Hawkeye -"

Both of them were on their feet, and Al wasn't sure which had moved first, but he'd already brought his hands together before he realized it was too late - he'd let Roy get the drop on him. Yet the older man didn't strike; his hand was shaking with either emotion or the desire to end the conversation in the way most comfortable for him. "Back off."

"I'm not saying that we could ever take his place, Roy," he said, as calmly as he could, and he was amazed Roy let him continue speaking. "but he would have been sitting here days ago telling you that Patterson wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was!" Mustang's hand curled into a fist, but Al didn't relax for one second.

"How do you figure? He chose his path before you ever met him! I loved him and forgave him but even I recognize that he was a coward and nothing you could possibly do in a year's time could have changed that!"

"I know that!" It was a roar, and he swallowed the volume of his next outburst with visible effort. "Which is why I should have seen it coming."

"Why you and not the rest of us? You're surrounded with geniuses, and none of us thought . . . why do you get the blame for something we all missed?"

A bitter smile, devoid of humor. "Because I'm the guy that deploys you, remember?"

Touché. "It's a two-way street. You don't get to choose what you get credit for."

Roy gave a surprised laugh. "I'm well aware." His eye was piercing. "I get credit for the fact that you now carry the same virus as the townspeople of Jannai, for example."

Al blinked, completely nonplussed. How - ? Then he closed his eyes briefly. "You're having our medical records scrutinized because Sorn's childhood records managed to slip between the cracks."

He'd figured he'd been exposed the moment he heard about it, though now he knew it must have been in the food the Blanes had offered him. The other drug Avram had used was actually probably one of Patterson's designs, a powder on the felt card table. When Avram had shuffled the cards it had been puffed into the air, he probably used it regularly to interrogate his guests. It was conceivable that Dante's virus had been in that soup of chemicals, but more likely it had been in the actual soup - viruses did better in liquids than dry solids.

And while it was disappointing to give Roy another brick for his guilt fortress, it wasn't even an invasion of privacy. They were military records, and military doctors. "I'd say preventing a war outweighs all that, Roy."

He got a dark look. "Then why the hell are you in my office attacking me for endangering your brother?"

Trust him to miss the point entirely. "If you can risk him, risk me! If you want so much to protect him then let me!"

He got a rare conflicted look - half still furious with him, wanting to hurt, the other half hesitant, and Al took a step towards the desk. "What, you think I love him less? If one of us had to live without the other I'd be less likely to do something stupid? I killed thousands of people to get him back, Mustang! At least he only risked himself!"

"Is it something you can't forgive yourself for or a medal, Al? If I presented you with a city full of people are you telling me the great bloodthirsty Alphonse Elric would transmute them, even if you knew without a doubt it would bring your brother back?!"

That was a stupid question. "Neither one of us would and you know that."

"You were nine years old, Alphonse! Do you know what other brilliant nine year olds do? They play with toy cars!" Roy had also approached the desk, so that their thighs were pressed to its edge. "The fact that you've done so much in your life isn't justification to inflict worse!"

"It's _my _choice! Just like Patterson's death was his! It's my choice to stand here right now, it was my choice to stay instead of walking away a year ago! God, Mustang, you're so damn good at manipulating everyone that you can't see you're doing it to yourself!"

"It was never your choice!" Both of them were yelling now and neither seemed to care. "Your father took that choice away from you four hundred years ago and I didn't do any better!"

Al was stunned. "You still think that way? After all this time? As soon as we made enough noise on our own Dante would have become our teacher! Dad would have had to come out of hiding sooner and we'd all be dead!"

But Roy was shaking his head. "Hohenheim would have protected you-"

Al knew that wasn't true; the moment Dante knew about Sloth it was over for them. "Then why the hell didn't he protect us from you, Mustang? Have you ever wondered that? He knew exactly where we were, and he knew who our superior officer was! If you're so damn dangerous then why aren't you floating in pieces in the Gate?"

"Because it was too late and he knew it! Don't you see you're making my point for me?"

"No! If we never had any choice and we were destined to end up here then how the _hell_ is that your fault?!"

They were inches from each other, almost out of breath from shouting, and Al wondered how they'd managed to get to this tangent. "Dammit, Roy, you didn't do this to us. I know you had to send at least one of us, I know why you wanted it to be Ed, but he can't handle everything. The only reason we survived was because we were together."

An odd sort of calm permeated the room, though the banging on the transmuted door had started up again. Apparently they were making enough noise that everyone outside knew they were both still alive, at any rate. Roy took a deep, slow breath.

"I won't deny that the two of you can accomplish almost anything. But even together you're not invincible, Alphonse. No commander in their right mind would transport the safe and its key on the same train."

He paused, for so long Al thought he was done, but when he opened his mouth Roy cut him off. "I see your point. See mine. I haven't lost you yet, Alphonse Elric. Not really. And I know you know the two of you could not have held back that army. Every alchemist in Central together could not have held back that army, not at that location. He was never supposed to be there."

And even with that, he'd sent Havoc and Breda, just in case. In Cretian uniforms made by his own seamstress, he could have called the mission espionage if he'd needed to cover it up. "I'm not faulting you for not seeing it. And I know you took every precaution you could. I'm telling you it's a flawed strategy."

Oddly, the smile Roy gave him seemed genuine. "I know. But it's the only one I have."

It was a reflexive response to Maes and they both knew it. "One hundred and eighty degrees of wrong is not necessarily right."

"To lean too far in the other direction is the same error," Roy murmured aloud. "That's the same advice Shurik Tolya gave me a little over a week ago."

"Well, I did just overpower your personal guard and take you hostage. It makes sense I'd be in cahoots with the Drachmans."

A brief flash of humor in his eye, but then he became serious again. "What's the point of all this power if I can't use it to protect the people I care about?"

"You are. We'd be in the middle of a losing war sandwiched between Drachma and Creta if not for you. If Hakuro hadn't already used the uranium bomb on one of them," he added, and Roy crossed his arms. Al was surprised to find himself with his hands in his pockets. While they hadn't agreed in so many words, they had certainly come to an arrangement, unspoken. They had acknowledged each other's points of view.

"Do you really want your State title stripped?"

Al exhaled slowly. "No. And I want to be used in military applications. I trust that you will only ever act in the best interest of the people, and alchemists are for the people."

"I thought you felt trusting me was in error."

Al was briefly unable to meet Mustang's eye. "Eh. About that . . ."

"Would you still be here screaming at me if you hadn't known the rumor until after it was disproved? 

Al grinned sheepishly. "I wasn't screaming at you. And probably not. I did the same thing."

"I don't blame you for being angry."

"I know."

They stared at each other, seeking and finding that mutual understanding that said things were as okay as they were likely to get at this juncture. Al glanced at his pocketwatch. "Looks like you have about fifteen minutes before trial. I guess I should get to putting the office back together, huh."

"I'd appreciate it." His tone was dry. "I'd imagine this will make your court martial a bit more serious."

"Eh, I don't know if Hawkeye is mad enough to actually get me in trouble along with you. It pays to hang out with the kinder, gentler Elric." He clapped his hands and put them to the ground, using the interconnecting rebar and concrete to move the transmutation. "By the way, the colonel said you wanted my opinion on something . . .?"

By the time he was done, and had crossed the room to unbind Goodman, Roy had pulled a folder walked over to the door of his office, offering it with the cover closed. "Patterson left this. It's not addressed but I suspect it was intended for you as much as anyone else. Your brother was a medical doctor in the other world, wasn't he?"

Al nodded cautiously as he offered Goodman his hand, pleased when the burly man accepted it. He didn't retaliate at all; he'd seen their discussion even if he hadn't heard it, and he must have understood it was necessary to have that conversation. If anything he looked a little ashamed that it had taken so little to take him down.

"Thanks for not clobbering my bad shoulder," Al told him, and he meant it. They shook hands, and Al had just accepted the folder when there was a slight frequency change in the air. Not so much as a lessening of air pressure, just a difference in the ambient noise.

Then the main door seemed to shimmer slightly, and Darr Swolls stepped through it like it wasn't there.

The older man was of Ishbalan descent, his features very much like Scar's - strong jaw, prominent eyebrows, commanding gaze. His eyes swept the room, clearly not happy that they were so close to him, but when he saw that none of them were injured in any way he raised his eyebrow and inclined his head.

"Prime Minister, sir. I was alerted that there was a mechanical problem preventing you from opening any of the doors of your office?"

Alphonse deferred to Mustang, staring at the folder uncertainly. What would Patterson have wanted him to have that wouldn't be addressed to him? And why would it be filled with medical jargon? Was it a request to have Edward do something with all his experimental drugs?

"I'm unaware of such a problem, Major. Did you try the door?"

The large man gave them all another impassive look, lingering on Goodman, before he turned around and put his hand on the doorknob. It turned easily, opening out on to a startled office. Hawkeye hadn't been able to ditch the main door guards, so she'd taken the route of summoning an alchemist who could effectively see what the problem was without resorting to destroying anything.

Darr Swolls changed the frequency at which molecules vibrated, thus employing the vast empty spaces between molecules of a solid and then moving through it.

He said nothing at all to them, merely stepped back out of the office, and Goodman and Brooks exchanged a long, silent look. Then they too turned and walked into the outer office, giving Alphonse no option but to follow.

The colonel was there as well, her eyes questioning, and he gave her a quick nod. Whatever fight they'd had, he had faith that they could handle it. In a way, Roy was probably right - it didn't make sense to keep his own security chief when no other government official qualified for one. He still had to know how it would come off, though, having just dealt with the same thing from Breda and Fuery.

Al was allowed to leave without so much as a word, only curious glances from the enlisted, and he sat down in the driver's seat of the Bert's still-unreturned car, flipping open the folder and taking out the first sheet.

_Without the ability to reference Pinako Rockbell's most current medical records, some specifics should be reviewed by her attending physician. Assuming the internal bleeding has not significantly increased and her kidneys and liver are still responding well to transfusion, a combination of healing alchemy and surgery may be administered to secure the fractures of her pelvis. In the following page, please refer to figure 1.1._

_The fatal hemorrhaging risk associated with surgery is directly due to the invasiveness of the procedure. Alchemy can be employed to significantly reduce the size of incisions to be made and to reform the pins once they have been introduced to the patient. Precise angles will need to be calculated to determine the most effective position for surgery, but I have made a recommendation based on the patient's weight and height -_

Al went through it, page by page, studying each clearly sketched figure, and then he closed the folder and turned the key, heading immediately for the hospital.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I haven't counted recently, but I'm pretty sure my best guess at chapter count is still off. On the plus side, Al and Roy got to let off some steam, and maybe all's not lost for Pinako just yet. If Sorn behaves and plays along, Ed might get out of trouble as well. Not much left to do here but see if Hakuro will let them get away with it. ; )

Standard typo disclaimer applies - if you see anything, please let me know! I'll try to have this thing wrapped up in the next week or so!


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Traitor."

Dr. Dalyell seemed a bit more flustered than usual, and she gave him a dark look. It was something he really liked about her - she didn't pull her punches. Which meant that she'd tried and failed to stop this, much like Patterson had done before her.

"Don't badger your doctor, Fullmetal, she's stalled this meeting as long as she possibly could." The general didn't look much happier than Dalyell did, and he glanced at his watch as he irritably brushed past her into the room. "If I wasn't absolutely certain she cleaned your medical records on Mustang's order I'd involve her with this. That will be all, doctor."

"If his heart rate increases, I will declare him unfit for the interview," she began, but Ed shook his head.

"It's fine." Hakuro could and would make her life difficult, and considering what she'd done for him already, it wasn't worth it.

Someone needed to be Patterson's champion, after all. The drugs in his IV were liquid gold, and he'd be damned if he ever had to be hospitalized again and subsist on the crap everyone else got.

The doctor's look didn't sweeten. "It isn't," she said firmly. "Threaten me all you like, general, the patient's welfare comes before anything else."

"I have no intention of killing him," Hakuro said blandly, turning to give her an inquiring look. "If he becomes too agitated of course I will come back another time."

Ed briefly toyed with faking hyperventilation, but that would take effort, and his morning therapy had just finished. He was feeling better every day, which was a damn shame, because it meant he could no longer fall asleep on command. Though he could probably fake that, it was a lot less strenuous-

"I will hold you to that."

"Do." The general said it dismissively, and took the chair Alphonse had vacated earlier that morning. He waited until the door closed, reluctantly, and then opened a stuffed folder, fishing a pen out of his inner coat pocket. "You lost the automail before the Cretians exposed you. How long before?"

Trust him to cut right to the chase. "I don't know what you're talking about. And good morning to you too."

Hakuro's bland look hadn't faded. "I'm going to try a new tactic with you, Fullmetal. I'm only going to give you one opportunity to answer me honestly, and then I'm going to ask the same question of someone else. If I have to go to that effort, be sure that I will also complete an investigation of that other person and I will prosecute anything I find, even if it's as trite as an unpaid parking ticket. With that in mind, would you care to rephrase?"

Ed crossed his arms behind his head, hopefully drawing the general's attention to the fact that one of his hands was a deep reddish-gold, and the other was lobster-like and peeling. "Well, general, like I said, I don't know what you're talking about. The fact that it's sunburned as hell should tell you it hasn't seen daylight in a while, and you've seen the automail with your own eyes as recently as earlier this week, so . . . knock yourself out." Literally.

It wasn't like he would bother the Rockbells, not with Pinako-

Ed cut that thought off before it could go anywhere else, giving the general a piercing look. He pursed his lips and made a quick notation on some page Ed couldn't see, and Edward concentrated on looking entirely at ease. He wouldn't dare, but he _could_ hassle Winry, and Pinako, they were both here-

"How did you do it?"

"I dunno. How's that for you?" He half-smirked at the ceiling. "Spent more than half my life trying to find a way to get them back and I end up doing it entirely on accident."

An accident, luck, and the best little brother in the world. Al had said he'd get his arm and leg back, and he had.

"So you did fully intend to perform human transmutation to restore them, at some point?"

Ed gave him a dirty look. "Gee, because that worked so well the first time. We were looking for alternate ways, remember?" He extricated his right arm, watching his hand curl into a fist. "I didn't want anyone to have to die for me to get this back."

All those people . . . their lives only paid to get them across the Gate, but it was the first step in getting back his limbs, if not for them he would never have been able to summon the Gate . . . or maybe that was the one transmutation that would have been possible, exactly the way Al did it. Since it owed him, it might have lent him the energy to use that one array, walk right into the lion's den. He just hadn't figured it out.

"And if I ask Franklin Sorn this question, he'll tell me the same?"

"I don't know what he'll tell you. We sort of lost track of each other for a while. I've turned in my report, by the way. You must've just missed Al."

The general twitched an eyebrow. "I see. In relation to your brother, actually, would you care to tell me what you did to the uranium bomb that caused it to malfunction?"

Ed suppressed a surprised twitch, turning to give the general an incredulous look. "What did you just say?"

Hakuro seemed neither triumphant nor surprised, and that bothered Ed more than the question. He was going to use the court-martial to sniff into the uranium bomb again? "By you, of course, I mean Mustang's supporters. You were in the hospital at the time, but with the most knowledge about the device I would imagine you gave the saboteur the instructions."

So no, he didn't know it had been Al . . . and who would, Al was supposed to be unable to move at all at that point, and Hakuro had walked in on his port installation so he knew for a fact that he'd still been missing the limbs when he first returned . . . what could Hakuro possibly have on Al that would make him threaten? Or that Mustang couldn't make go away? "Again, I don't know what you're talking about. What the hell do you mean, in relation to my brother?"

Hakuro capped his pen. "I'm not surprised he hasn't told you yet, I see everyone's being very protective of your injuries." The general even went as far as to glance at the heart monitor, which showed a telltale increase. "I am inclined to believe it is more his place than mine. I suggest you ask him when he returns."

"Ask him what?" What's the magical thing hanging over you that Hakuro thinks he can use? "Al doesn't know anything about it-"

"I'm sure he'll say the same thing," the general murmured, in a frighteningly sincere tone. "But rest assured that if I should investigate Alphonse's recent record I would find plenty to pursue."

Edward pulled himself into a sitting position, grabbing the bedrails as he leaned closer to the general. "You know he doesn't know anything about the bomb. We barely had time to get out of there alive, let alone screw with it. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the technology was bad? Or the Germans fucked it up before we stole it back, like they trashed my automail?"

Hakuro spread his hands. "Then why are you trying so hard to convince me that asking Alphonse would be a waste of time?" His expression steeled. "We both know that story you dreamt up to explain the attack by the Irvings was poppycock. The amplifier used in those attacks was lethal to alchemists and destroyed, so there was no 'alternative' to a Philosopher's Stone you could have used. You used something else. What did you use, and when?"

Blackmailing him with what he didn't know.

That best little brother in the world was going to get a stern talking to if he was hiding something big enough for Hakuro to use. "I did have an amplifier. If I had to guess, I'd say it was the remnants of Red Stone that were shed by a homunculus that was injured in the city below Central. It's just a guess. I took it in case I didn't get to Sorn in time, so I would have a chance to hold off the army long enough to escape. Sorn wasn't cooperating, he came back to help instead of taking off like I instructed him, and in protecting him we both got hit. When I came to, I had no amplifier and an arm and leg. Sorn was buried elsewhere, so he couldn't have done it."

"And how did this amplifier just happen to come into your possession?"

Ed openly suppressed his irritation. "Never figured that out. Just showed up one morning in a little hand-tied parcel. I'd have thought it came from Pops if I didn't know . . . if I wasn't sure he was dead."

It was clear the general didn't believe him. "And you were saving it for a rainy day."

"Considering the last one I came across was lethal, I wasn't exactly eager to give it a spin. In this case, I felt the risk was justified."

The general frowned deeply. "I really thought better of you, Fullmetal. I can't afford to put you both in the same maximum security facility, the risk is too great. At least if he was free to go he could visit you occasionally."

Ed dropped the act, narrowing his eyes. "That's bullshit. Al hasn't done anything like that. If you're talking about the Thule Invasion, Mustang will have him pardoned before you can get a court to sign the arrest warrant."

"As I said, it's not my place to tell you. However, I do understand that your automail mechanics are currently here in Central. I'm certain you wouldn't mind if I require receipts and records of your last adjustments?"

Edward slammed the bedrails down, swinging his legs off the bed, and the door to his room burst open, enlisted blue filling the doorway. He ignored them. "Send them a letter."

Hakuro lifted a hand casually, stilling his men. "I have just enough time to ask them a few questions before I leave the hospital. It would seem that would be more convenient."

You son of a bitch. "What, now you're going to involve the sick and injured in your witch hunt? You really want that kind of PR?" He bared his teeth, getting to his feet despite a machine beeping in alarm. "I happen to have a friend who would love to sink his teeth into a story like that. Shall I give him the exclusive?"

Hakuro actually gave him a delighted smile. "You are still in there, aren't you, Fullmetal. I suppose Mustang will need to give you a new title, if you somehow manage to keep your certification. And don't doubt for a second he would smother any story that attacked the military, particularly in this political climate." There was a brief scuffle at the hallway door, and the general stepped to the side. "It appears I have upset you, Edward. This interview is over for now." He nodded at the guards, who moved aside to allow an openly infuriated Dr. Dalyell and an unfamiliar monster of an orderly into the room. "I am, after all, a man of my word."

Ed took a few steps forward, absolutely steady on his feet. "Like hell I'll let you-"

But Dr. Dalyell was suddenly between them, and he found himself blocked. "Elric, calm down-"

He barely had the strength to shove her aside, but he did, as gently as he could while still being successful. "They have nothing to do with it-"

While he was able to bypass Dalyell, the orderly might as well have been a walking cylinder of concrete. He wrapped one enormous, beefy arm around his chest as if he meant to body-slam him, and in trying to keep his feet Edward noticed too late the man's other hand. He flinched back but it was already done, whatever it was was stinging into his system. "Dammit, they don't know anything!"

All the strength left him; he wasn't even sure he managed to get all the words actually out of his mouth, if not for that arm he would have cracked his head open on the floor. As if he weighed nothing, the orderly plucked him up and deposited him back in the bed, and despite his best efforts his body instantly melted into the mattress, pouring itself into every dip and fold.

He couldn't pick up his head. He couldn't yell. He couldn't move at all.

He could barely even blink. Breathing was becoming difficult, arduous, and he ignored the doctor, becoming more and more frantic without understanding why. He could hear his heart thudding in his ears, couldn't get a deep enough breath. His body ached from its short wrestling match and at the same time felt frigidly cold, like he'd never warm up again.

Hands on him, he couldn't shake them off, on his face but he refused to open his eyes, he just needed to calm the fuck down, breathe, he couldn't breathe-

Ice shot through his chest like lightning.

- x -

"Let the records show this trial is resuming at twelve hundred hours." The Speaker surveyed Parliament, getting eye contact with all members of the panel before giving a nod to the prosecution. "Please proceed."

Major General Lee Tash stepped forward smartly, coming to stand almost parade rest about fifteen feet from the stand. He gave no summary, jumping right back into his questions. "As he is sitting in this courtroom today, obviously you were able to save the life of citizen Fletcher Tringum. What did you do then?"

Surreptitiously he glanced to his left, unsurprised to see Fletcher also looking at him out of the corner of his eye. His brother had been released just that morning, in light of the fact he would likely have to make a statement either today or tomorrow in the trials. His little brother narrowed his eye slightly in a silent _Stop fussing_, and Russ couldn't help a quick smile as he glanced back over the balcony. If Sorn knew where they were sitting, he was ignoring them; he was staring at the railing in front of him and speaking in a monotone, as if reading everything from the warmly stained oak instead of relating what he himself had done and seen

Of course, Russell already knew this part, he'd heard it from Fletcher days ago, but it was probable most of the people in the room really had no idea.

"I asked him why Patterson had attacked him. He said he didn't know, and that he'd asked some questions about Arturu. I thought it might have something to do with sensei's plans, so I smuggled him out of the hospital and took him to the hotel. So that Patterson wouldn't know what I'd done, I created a false body through alchemy and made it look like Fletcher Tringum." There was a murmur around the hall, but Sorn continued as if he couldn't hear it. "I knew it wouldn't fool him for very long, but I was hopeful I could catch up with sensei in that time."

"Creating a false body . . . can all alchemists certified at the National level perform such alchemy?"

"I don't know."

Fletcher twitched and Russ gave him a slight nod, scribbling the question down on his square of paper. Things it was likely Tash would ask him, when he was put on the stand as an expert witness.

"Then what happened?"

Sorn took an unanimated breath. "Fletcher rested and recovered, and he and I determined that it would be best if someone watched Patterson. If he was working for sensei he could be dangerous."

"Didn't it occur to either of you to involve the authorities at this time?"

"Like before, I couldn't be sure how many people were involved, and I needed to collect more information before I could be sure alerting the military wouldn't be playing into sensei's hands."

"And Fletcher Tringum agreed?"

"Yes. He thought it would be better to remain hidden temporarily, that it would be easier for him to get information."

"And both of you were aware of how this could be construed?"

Fletcher fidgeted, and Russ carefully didn't look at him.

"I didn't think about it."

Tash rocked back on his heels. "Continue."

"I left Fletcher to watch Patterson and went to the Cretian border. I have studied Amestrian geography and Cretian military tactics, and I determined the best point of entry into the country from Creta. I headed there to confirm there really was an army gathering, afraid that if I alerted West City and a unit was deployed it could be construed as a sign of Amestrian aggression. Since it was just me it took several days to confirm."

"In which time the Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric was able to track you down."

Sorn didn't even flinch. "Yes."

"What did he do when he caught up to you?"

"He ordered me back to West City to notify them of the army."

"Did you follow his orders?"

Sorn shook his head.

"What did you do instead?"

"I helped him build fortifications, and transmuted my car into a small fleet of machines capable of firing one round of artillery." A stronger murmur that he plowed right over. "I also transmuted machines to create dust, to fool the Cretians into thinking there was a large force approaching behind us."

"What happened?"

"They were forced to wait for reinforcements, but eventually we were overrun. The Cretians concentrated their artillery on our fort and destroyed it faster than we could repair it with alchemy. I lost track of Major Elric for a while. He was on the side that was more badly damaged, but he transmuted a tunnel and a chamber beneath the fort, and we hid there in the hopes that the enemy would think we were killed in the collapse."

"Did you or the major sustain injuries at this time?"

Nothing about the boy changed. Not his demeanor, his tone, his dull green eyes or his carefully brushed hair. "I was fine, and the major seemed fine until we were discovered by an enemy alchemist. He ordered me to surrender and when we were taken for questioning by the Cretians I noticed that his automail was gone."

No murmur of voices - someone losing their automail wasn't a big deal. They didn't really understand from what Franklin had said what really happened, and Tash knew it immediately. "What do you mean when you say it was gone? He no longer had a right arm and left leg?"

An uninterested blink. "The metal was gone, replaced by flesh limbs. They were pale-" He glanced up as his voice was drowned out in an uproar, the first time since he had started to speak that morning, and even from the balcony Russ could see that he wasn't as unfeeling and wooden as he'd seemed.

He looked sick.

The Speaker restored order loudly, and Tash waited a few moments into that excited silence to continue. "Just so the court can be perfectly clear, are you saying that the Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric replaced his automail with flesh and blood?"

"Yes."

"In your opinion as a nationally certified alchemist, is that possible?"

"Obviously." For the very first time, the tiniest bit of impatience crept into the teen's voice. "He had been very quiet in the dark while we were hiding, which made me wonder if he was injured, but when I saw what had happened he gave me a look, like he didn't want me to make a big deal out of it. Because it was missing, the Cretians didn't realize who he was at first."

Tash wasn't going to let him gloss over the human transmutation issue so easily. "In your opinion as a State Alchemist, how could he have performed such miraculous alchemy?"

"He had an amplifier." Another roar, but this time Sorn looked like he expected it, and he even looked out briefly at Parliament as he waited for Tash to let him know he could continue. "He used it to construct the fort, and some other long-distance transmutations we used to keep the foot soldiers clear of the field."

"Is it customary for National Alchemists to have such amplifiers with them?"

"It used to be. A certified alchemist's watch used to contain a small amplifier, but that practice died out before I became a certified alchemist. He didn't say where it came from."

The boy had effectively stymied any more questions on it, and Tash was forced to go on. "So the Cretians accepted your surrender?"

"Yes. They kept us in a tent until their general could question us."

"General Terese Enora?"

"Yes."

"Did you give any information to her or other Cretians during this interrogation?"

"No."

"Did Major Elric?"

"He tried."

Even Tash looked surprised. "Please elaborate," he said sharply.

Sorn actually flinched slightly at the tone. "He told them he was the Winding Tree Alchemist, Russell Tringum, and that the Amestrian military was fully aware of the operation and moving to intercept as they spoke."

Several of the people on the balcony glanced their way, and Russell carefully kept staring straight ahead. Damn that guy, two little indiscretions and he wouldn't let it go-

"Did he tell them anything else?"

"Nothing accurate."

"Did the Cretians injure you or Major Elric during the interrogation?"

Sorn became very still. "I was considered too young by Cretian law to be treated as an adult. It was one of the reasons I wanted to gather intelligence on the army myself. I knew I would be detained but not . . . mistreated."

"But Major Elric was not so lucky."

"No." He seemed to be waiting for a cue from Tash, but when he didn't get one, he continued. "The chief interrogator used a combination of water, salt, zinc, and copper to deliver electrical shocks to E- to the major. I think it was done in my presence to encourage me to give them information."

Russell closed his eyes. The chemical burns. No wonder. It was a simple, inefficient way to deliver electrical current, and it explained the nerve and heart damage to the letter. Bastards.

"Did you?"

"No."

"How long did this go on?"

"Until the major became unresponsive."

It was hard to hear what he already knew from Al repeated so emotionlessly, but this was news. Sorn was a kid who had transmuted a perfect doll. He wouldn't have confused the term 'unresponsive' with anything else. It had been bad enough that Ed had gone catatonic again. That wasn't good.

"How long do you believe that duration of time was?"

Sorn shifted. "I don't know. Twenty-seven minutes?"

Trust the Mechanical Alchemist to be unhappy with a guess that was specific to the minute. But that was a terrifically short amount of time, especially for someone like Ed. Must have felt a little like what had happened before, in that other world. Russell relaxed his shoulders as they started to ache with tension. Maybe it was a good thing. Spared him the immediate pain, at any rate. But his heart . . . damn that little shit down there for speaking so cavalierly about what he'd directly caused.

"Once the major was unresponsive, did they treat his injuries?"

"It took another nine minutes before they realized," Sorn clarified. "They cut him down and let him rest until the morning."

"What happened in the interim?"

"They asked me questions."

"Did you answer them?"

"Not truthfully. Their intelligence was good enough that they knew I was lying. They let me rest a few hours, and then they came and got the major."

"Do you know where they took him?"

"To a field."

This kid was way too literal.

"Why did they do that?"

"To execute him."

"Did they?"

"They tried."

"But they didn't succeed?"

"Amestrian soldiers had infiltrated the camp and one of them replaced a soldier on the firing squad. He fired first, grazing the major's skull to make it look fatal."

Parliament was quiet. This wasn't news; it had been read to them before any suspects had been brought before them, from the briefings of the Major Generals Armstrong, Breda, Havoc, Fuery, and a dozen other members of the military.

"And the Cretians believed it?"

"Yes."

"At the time, did you recognize that Amestrian soldier?"

"No."

"Did you know the military was aware of Blane's plot and had sent spies into their ranks?"

"No."

"Did you believe, at the time, that Major Edward Elric had been killed?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

Sorn wouldn't look up. "Nothing. I was still in chains and the entire army was there."

Tash seemed satisfied with the answer. "What happened?"

"They put the major on a horse-drawn wagon and sent it towards West City, as their declaration of war. Then the Cretian army was deployed behind it."

"The army you meant to stop."

Sorn dropped his eyes a little further. "Yes."

"Did you regret your decision, at that point, not to notify the Amestrian military of Avram Blane's plan?"

"I don't know."

Russ blinked. That was a surprise. He chanced a glance at the Prime Minister, but as he had for the rest of the proceedings, he was square-jawed and looked vaguely annoyed.

"What do you mean?"

"I . . . I don't know how I felt. I was taken back to the tent and put under guard until the general had secured West City. The soldier that shot the major overpowered my guard and his colleague stole a jeep. They used it to escape."

Tash didn't look happy with that glossing either. "At that time, did you recognize them as Amestrian soldiers?"

"Not until they spoke to one another."

"So when they entered the tent, you assumed they were Cretian soldiers?"

Where the hell was Tash going with this . . .? Sorn also seemed confused. "Yes . . ."

"What did you think when you saw them enter?"

"They entered one at a time. I thought the first one was there to kill me."

"And you were unable to do anything at all?"

Russell stared. That was seriously Tash's angle? That Franklin hadn't attacked any Cretians after he and Ed held them off, so that meant he was in collusion with them? Whether Sorn had figured it out - or even cared, considering probably a full half of what he was saying was a lie - he simply answered. "I was bound in a chair, tied at the ankles and wrists. I couldn't use alchemy."

"So you were bound in a similar fashion to the way Amestris holds suspects who practice alchemy?"

"Yes."

"How did they know you were an alchemist?"

Sorn blinked up at the man, and Tash spread his hands. "You transmuted machines, but they obviously didn't see you doing that or they would have known the tanks were insufficient and moved to overtake your position sooner. You were hiding underground until unearthed, and you say Major Elric ordered you immediately to surrender. Did you tell them you were an alchemist?"

Of course. The Cretians had known who he was because he was one of their informants - assuming he was dumb enough to use his real name. Or they found him out doing their own recon, and just not told him. Either way that information had been left out of the version of events told today, thanks to Patterson's revised confession.

"General Enora recognized Edward Elric, even without the automail, because of his unusual eye color. She had done her research. I assume she recognized me as well. I was working with an alchemist in the middle of nowhere holding up her army. One would have assumed that if I was a civilian, Elric would have made me leave." Then he seemed to think better. "I also had my watch on me."

Tash gave him a piercing look. "Did the general address you by name?"

Sorn hesitated, strangely. "She . . . made up a name for me."

This was apparently news to Tash, as well. "What do you mean?"

"She knew I was the Mechanical Alchemist, but she called me her little councilor."

There was a low, angry-sounding rumble, and Tash pounced. "Why would she call you her little councilor?"

"I advised her that she should back down and try to pass off her invasion as a border patrol, based on Elric's lie that the Amestrian military had been fortifying West in secret, and the Cretians were going to be massacred." Sorn gave a half-hearted shrug. "She thought it was funny."

Obviously nothing Tash could use, so he went on. "Once you were rescued by Amestrian forces, what happened?"

"I was kept in the brig at headquarters in West City until after the battle, and then transferred by train here."

"In that time, did you have any contact with anyone other than Amestrian military personnel?"

"No."

"During that time, did you give the information you had collected to Amestrian military personnel?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"No point."

"Did you know at that time that Avram Blane was in custody?"

"No."

"Did you know at that time what Timothy Patterson's role was?"

"No."

"Didn't you think they were still threats?"

Sorn seemed to recoil a little in his chair. "Yes."

"Then why was there 'no point,' as you say? Why not share that information with the military?"

"I was . . . I thought it was too late. That sensei and Patterson would flee when word spread that West had been waiting."

"But the battle wasn't fought until after you arrived. Why didn't you tell personnel immediately?"

Sorn licked his lips. "I . . . I was preoccupied."

Tash frowned at him. "With what?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know." Tash repeated it flatly.

"That's right."

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"You know?" A slight chuckle ran through the crowd. "Don't you want me to believe you?"

Sorn kept studying that railing, for so long that Russ was pretty sure he wasn't going to answer, and then he looked up. And for the first time, it was his own words coming out of his mouth. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. It's done. No one can go back, no one can change anything that happened."

Tash gave him a long, careful look, clearly weighing the risk of pursuing this line of questioning, now that he had an engaged witness, with asking a question he didn't know the answer to. "That seems to bother you."

Franklin looked at him, really looked at him, and then glanced at the panel, his eyes sliding over each face before returning to Tash. "Is there anything else you want to ask me?"

The major general clearly didn't like having control of the interview being stripped so carelessly away. "You claim you were looking for the army to stop it. Yet you didn't bring any tools to do that, though Major Edward Elric did. You defended your position, and thereafter took not one single aggressive measure towards the Cretians. You say you didn't answer their questions, but in all that time, you never once attempted escape, never attempted to help your colleague and professor while he was being tortured to unconsciousness in front of you, never attempted to stop his execution as he was killed before your eyes. You sat like a good little prisoner and were rescued by Amestrian men that hadn't even known you were going to be there. Is that correct?"

Sorn was staring at him, green and a little stricken. But he answered promptly, in that same voice. "Yes."

"You've admitted to this court that you didn't take a single action to stop the attack before it happened. You had countless opportunities to involve the authorities but you knowingly and willfully hid information from them. Can you prove to me that you're not lying? That you weren't an informant for the Cretians? Because I'm sure if I ask them, they'll tell me you are."

"Of course they will. They'll want to discredit those that helped defeat them."

An obviously good point, and Tash glared at the boy. "Major Edward Elric's briefing was disseminated to the panel during break. In it, the major confirmed that he did not overhear you give the enemy information. However, by his own admission, there were many hours the Major was unconscious and would not have overheard the exchange of information. Even now you sit before this panel and say that you don't care if they believe you or not. Is your guilt weighing so heavily on your mind?"

Russ leaned forward slightly, astonished that the panel allowed that spiel, but none of them objected, and Sorn eventually realized he would have to answer. "People died because I made the wrong choices. Your opinion won't change that."

"Their opinion may affect your death."

"That's enough," General Hakuro spoke suddenly, from the panel. "Charges of treason have been dropped by this court. The suspect, if found guilty of remaining charges, will not be facing the death penalty."

"I respectfully put before the panel that the majority of his life spent in prison will be equivalent."

Oddly, the boy seemed to choke slightly, and he covered his face with a hand. His mouth, Russ realized after a moment. The word equivalent.

But what he couldn't figure out was if the kid was stifling a laugh or his cookies.

Sorn eventually shrugged, as if dislodging some irritant from his back, and lowered his hand. Tash gave him sufficient time to speak, but it was pretty clear Franklin wasn't going to open his mouth again. "That is not an answer."

But the boy offered nothing more, and eventually Tash gave up staring at him. "The judges will issue their questions to you at their leisure."

Sorn accepted this, returning his eyes to the railing in front of him, and visibly disengaged from the proceedings again. Many of the people sitting closest to him noticed, leaning across spaces to whisper to one another, and beside him, Fletcher wrapped his arms around his chest.

"I told you he's not a bad kid."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: THE END.

No, really, didn't I guess that chapter 36 would be the last chapter? How could I possibly be WRONG about that sort of thing?! Honestly . . .

Well, I sort of changed the ending. Actually, Hawkeye sort of changed the ending. Without my permission. In light of that, I suppose I need to settle her and Mustang, see if the Tringums are up to helping Pinako, get back to what Al's going to do to Hakuro for screwing with his brother like that . . . good times! Also, the above scene sort of just happened, and while it's a complete review, for some reason the characters really wanted to spell things out. I hope it wasn't boring - I think I've been putting these things out so slowly it was a nice reminder, but you guys tell me!

Since obviously there will be another chapter or three . . . should never have guessed. Never. As always, without beta. If you spot anything, please let me know!


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

And no, this isn't the last chapter either. ; )

- x -

Winry wasn't going to make this any easier than Pinako was.

He had no plans to tell either of them until nii-san, and more importantly the Tringums, confirmed it was worth the risk to her. Pinako was no longer stable enough to transfer or she would have already been taken back to Resembool by now, as had been originally planned. Obviously there was some deterioration of her condition that had occurred even in the hospital that meant Winry could not adequately care for her at the Rockbell home.

And that might have been deterioration that Patterson didn't know about when he'd written down his thoughts.

Alphonse Elric arranged a pleasant look on his face, climbing the stairs two at a time and nodding to the two corporals stationed outside the main door. They weren't the soldiers assigned to him, but he was certain they reported when he came and went, and he had made the decision immediately to make it as easy on them as possible. He always acknowledged them politely and used the same door when entering or leaving. Hakuro allowed him a remarkable amount of free rein in the hospital and he knew as long as he cooperated, there would be no need for the soldiers that did keep an eye on him to follow more closely than they already were.

He wasn't sure what else his cooperation would earn him, if anything, but at least it meant nii-san had one less thing to worry about.

Al got a nod in return and crossed the main lobby, greeting the squat and business-like woman who ran the admissions and information desk with a smile. He took the stairs to the second floor, where post-surgery and the more intensive care patients were kept, and it was habit that made him glance down the north wing, even as his feet carried him to the south.

Amestrian blue was everywhere; first and foremost this was the HQ hospital, but the number of them, and where they were gathered caught his eye, and after two steps he stopped dead, then immediately changed course. There was pink there, beside the blue, and golden blonde hair. Despite the soldiers' presence she looked quite calm, save her fists, firmly at her sides, and he was able to touch her shoulder before she knew he was there.

"Winry?"

She glanced up at him, concealed anger in her eyes that quickly shifted to chagrin. Her lips were turned down in a frown and she put her hand over his, practically dragging him away from the curious-looking enlisted that was preventing either of them from entering Pinako Rockbell's room.

"I swear you have the worst timing of any man alive, Alphonse-"

"Is this about the automail?" He kept his voice hushed, and was careful to mask his anger as well. They'd known Hakuro was too wrapped up with the others to worry about Ed, but now that the trials were in full swing - that son of a bitch, he was bothering them about the automail at a time like this-

"I don't know. I think so," she added quickly, grabbing his wrist as he started to move back towards the door.

"Is he in there right now?" The hell with cooperation-

"The general already left. They're drawing blood." Her voice held no accusation, only question, and it was enough to derail Al for a few seconds. Drawing blood . . . ?

He turned, allowing himself to be pulled to the opposite side of the hallway, and Winry continued frowning - at him? - and stationed herself in a position to watch both of them. "I know you can't tell me everything, but what did Ed say to the military?"

"Nothing that would . . ." Alphonse trailed off. Drawing blood. "What did they say? Why aren't you in there?"

"I was in there until Hakuro left. They chased me out, but Ackernath is in there now and probably giving them a harder time than I ever could. I don't know if they're trying to confirm her condition because Ed claimed he healed himself or what, but it's pointless since she's receiving transfused blood." It was a half-muttered growl. "The general asked for receipts and the figures from Ed's last automail checkup." Her hand strayed to her back pocket, where Al knew she kept her little black book of customers and their most recent numbers. Something they'd both counted on her having, and asked about just yesterday evening.

Though it was odd that Hakuro wouldn't have taken the entire thing as evidence. "And you showed him, and he just left?"

A scowl. "Pretty much. One of his lackeys copied down the pertinent stuff and then returned it. He asked after granny, polite as pie, and then walked out like he had somewhere more important to be." Her tone became a little less biting. "Please don't tell Ed. He'll have a fit."

Al was considering doing it in his stead. No matter Hakuro's justifications, he'd done it to get to them and it was working. "So you weren't going to tell us that Hakuro was hassling you."

"Nope." She didn't look even remotely apologetic. "If you hadn't needed me to back up the story you wouldn't have told me that Ed was officially ditching the 'automail.' And you're still not telling me something, I can see it all over your face."

She did have a point, and Al sighed loudly, angling so that he could watch Pinako's door as well. How long did it take to draw some blood? Though with Ackernath in there it was extremely unlikely anything like Murly's last stunt would be permitted. "I shouldn't be telling you this either, but he . . . hesitated. He didn't want to give up the armor, I think because it's an excuse for him to see you."

"He's an idiot," she replied, almost automatically. "He'll just have to admit that he wants to see me because he wants to see me."

That was true, and Al gave her a measuring look. "He was also afraid you'd think he was rejecting your work."

That got a smile out of her. "He always rejected my work. No matter how unbelievably awesome the automail I made for him was, I knew it was always second choice to him. It was what he put up with until he got his body back. And half the time he was just saying that for you, you know. You were so hell-bent on making it not just about you, but for him it always was."

Al blinked at her, and she gave him a withering look. "Oh, grow up, Al. We all knew what was going on back then. Or are you giving me that wide-eyed look because we're having this conversation in the hallway?"

"Yes," he said, then cleared his throat. She was right. It wasn't news. He had always insisted on getting Ed's body back because Ed had lost so much just to tie him to that armor. He took so much responsibility for what they did. But also because he felt uncomfortable that Ed was in so much pain, trying so hard, for him. "I've just never heard it put like that. You make it sound like you were . . . second to me."

"Everyone was second to you. But that's okay," she added, the same wistful smile on her face. "That was the price for being close to both of you, and we were all happy to pay it." She still had his wrist, and she slipped her hand down into his. "And I'm not trying to change that."

It was his turn to smile. "I'm sure it'll be an adjustment, but I'll live." The last thing he wanted her to worry about was any possible resentment. She had enough on her plate as it was.

"Great. So tell me whatever it was you weren't going to tell me."

"Forget it," he replied, as Pinako's door opened. Thankfully it wasn't Murly that stepped out, or rather was chased out by the jerky, fast pace of Ackernath, who looked thoroughly disgusted. Neither said a word as they stormed by, and the soldiers glanced at each other before scuttling after them. Al hesitated, hoping at least Ackernath would give him something, but Winry headed immediately back into the room.

"Excuse me, what-"

"Idiocy," Ackernath growled, not even bothering to turn his head as they marched quickly down the hall. "Lunacy. Take your pick, son."

They turned the corner and Al thought about pursuing, but his chances of getting anything more out of either the soldiers or the cranky old man were slimmer than getting them out of Pinako, and so he headed there instead. By the time he entered and closed the door behind him, Winry was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Pinako looked as she always had, unbelievably tiny in the white bed, not particularly pale nor particularly sick-looking. Just somehow . . . fragile. Her expression hadn't changed at all, though; amusement at theirs, and a bit long-suffering at the questions rolling off Winry's tongue.

"What was the point? Did they tell you? Why'd it take so long? Did they do or ask anything else, or look at your chart, or-"

"I see you collected Alphonse."

Winry huffed. "What can I say, they both like to interfere."

Al waved, trying to look less worried than he felt. "Good morning, Aunt Pinako."

"Good morning, Alphonse. Would you be a dear and hand me my pipe?"

He did as he was asked, despite the fact that Winry was closer and she seemed almost hurt she wasn't asked instead. Once it was tamped and lit he opened the window a crack, and Pinako took a long pull. "It's fine, dears. I'm sure it was to rattle your cage, Alphonse."

"Yeah, well, it did," Al grumbled. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"As alright as I'm going to be," she responded, blowing the silver smoke thoughtfully away from Winry. "A visit from the military to ask about a soldier's automail is nothing new. They do it all the time, to ensure that their soldiers aren't mutilating themselves just for an excuse to get automail. I don't know why you two complain so much about General Hakuro. He was a proper gentleman."

"He better have been."

"Did they tell you why they needed some blood?"

The old eyes cut knowingly to her granddaughter, and Pinako puffed again before replying. "To run a test, I imagine."

"What test could they possibly run on someone getting a transfusion? Surely Ackernath told them-"

"Repeatedly." She said it very fondly, and Al smiled despite himself. At least she was still having fun, even in these circumstances. And maybe they could do something about that, very soon. He picked up her chart, glancing through the history as Winry watched him critically.

"So, you gonna spill or do I need to beat it out of you?"

She was still anemic, even with the transfusions. That was why they'd delayed her release. So she was bleeding out more than they thought, or the bleeding out was still uncontrolled. That was definitely a problem. "They're testing for something that would be in her blood anyway, that wouldn't be affected by the transfusion." Which meant they weren't looking for red cell counts, iron, levels of chemicals or hormones in her blood. They were looking for something else entirely.

They were looking for the virus. Because Patterson had mentioned her in the document. Because he'd taken an interest in her and Hakuro was either using it as an excuse to further worry them or because he was honestly concerned that Patterson would have infected other people near them on Blane's orders, to use as further or future leverage.

And he had no worries that test would come back negative. Patterson would have lied to Avram before he'd have infected Pinako.

"That's obvious, genius. You know what, don't you."

"Well, it's probably classified, but it won't stay a secret forever." The townsfolk still being kept in Central in the dorms would be notified, if they hadn't already, that they were carrying a sleeping virus. "Avram Blane infected the town of Jannai with a virus, inert," he added quickly, as Winry's eyes widened. "Since Patterson was working for him, they're probably taking a sample from any of his patients, or any patients he might have come in contact with, to ensure that virus wasn't given to any of them."

Winry was silent a moment, clearly shocked, and Pinako puffed on her pipe. "But that's ridiculous," Winry finally replied, her tone angry and getting angrier by the second. "He would never have-"

"I know." He hesitated. "Pinako was mentioned by name in a document Patterson left. No, I don't have all the details yet," he said, cutting off Winry's half-formed question. "I just think it might mean they wanted to check, just to make sure, since it was obvious Patterson was thinking of her."

"What kind of document? He never treated her," Winry protested. "He gave her to Ackernath and that was that-"

"That's why I'm sure the test will be negative." Al tried for soothing. "And when I know more about what kind of document, I'll tell you. Since I don't know much I wasn't going to say anything at all, since it's always a zillion questions with you."

Winry closed her mouth but her eyes were narrow, and Al wondered if she could tell he was still holding something back. He was pretty sure the anemia would make them all hesitate, but it would be up to the Tringums to tell them their limits, and even if they were willing to try it at all. Pinako would be able to take that information and not get her hopes up, but Winry would be devastated if it turned out it was still impossible.

"Are you sure you're okay with this, Aunt Pinako? I'd be more than happy to drag Hakuro back in here and make him apologize."

Pinako shifted her pipe. "It's fine, dear. Thank you for thinking of me."

"It's not fine," Winry grumbled, and Pinako shook her head, the pillow crinkling beneath her.

"If you're upset, you've given him something," she reminded them. "Don't you both have anything better to do?"

Al gave her a long look, but eventually took the hint, pulling out his watch. "Nii-san's water therapy should be done by now. I should probably go torment him for a while."

Winry ignored the hint utterly. "I think I'll wait to see if anyone else is stupid enough to come in here to run 'tests.'"

Al swooped in to hug Pinako, who accepted it as she always did. "Are you sure you're all right?" She was probably correct on all counts, but it didn't help his anger one bit. She was only unbothered because she was Pinako Rockbell, if she'd been anyone else she'd be wringing her hands and worrying herself to death over it.

She patted his cheek. "You're developing quite the beard. Hohenheim would approve, I think."

It was a ridiculous answer to point out his ridiculous question. Al gave her a kiss on the cheek and leaned up, dodging Winry as she swung half-heartedly at him.

"Let the lunkhead sleep. And don't say a word."

"Who, me?" She was right; Ed would blow a gasket. Al closed the door quietly behind him as Winry started in on Pinako again and headed to the other wing, carefully filing everything away. If Hakuro had done it to make him worry about the virus, or to undercut Patterson's support, if it was for any reason other than Pinako's welfare, he was going to have a hard time forgiving this. The general already had them both, why involve the Rockbells? He had nothing to gain. Mustang's popularity was going to skyrocket after this, probably in Parliament as well as with the people. He had no hope of proving anything that Mustang had shared with him during their brief period of cooperation, unless one of them gave it to him. Was he really that desperate?

One of Ed's therapists was standing outside his door, and she gave him a smile but didn't move aside as he approached.

"Good morning, Alphonse," she said in a soft voice, gesturing for him to wait, and he did, lowering his voice as well.

"He's sleeping?"

She shook her head. "Dr. Dalyell is administering a test. You can go inside when they're finished." She still said it quietly, as if she didn't want the occupant of the room to hear, and Al gave her a curious look. He knew this was supposedly the last day Ed was going to be confined to his room and he would be allowed to use the wheelchair unrestricted . . . this was probably the evaluation to confirm that, but they hadn't required this level of quiet for any of the other resting heart rate tests-

The nurse hesitated. "The doctor will want to speak to you after the completion of the test. Will you have time?"

- x -

There was a sharp yet distant tug on his arms, and Edward Elric stifled a groan as his body was roughly jostled. Nausea was his close and familiar companion, and he opened his eyes more to get a bearing on which way was up than to figure out what was happening to him.

Blinking didn't help the sea of white come into focus, so he stared instead, unable to make sense of it as it shifted quite close to his face. He felt his arms being pulled tighter, above his head, and there was the not unpleasant sound of metal on metal, and then something tightening around his tingling wrists. The associated ratcheting sound reminded him a bit of handcuffs, and a shot of adrenaline flooded through him.

The white sea moved aside, or really actually away, and only then did he realize it was a person. A monster of a person, someone as big as Sig Curtis, and in a spotless white orderly's uniform that took up his entire field of vision. The mammoth was uncomfortably close, his eyes tiny in his huge skull, and they glared down at him without blinking.

Slightly unnerved, Ed tried to move his arms. They were attached quite firmly to whatever it was - wait, was he still in the hospital? Edward broke their staring contest to glance up, finding the shining silver handcuffs were indeed looped around the bars that made up the head of his bed. And it was a hospital bed, in a hospital room; his IVs were still attached.

"You have to be kidding me," he heard himself grate, and he swallowed some moisture into his dry, sticky throat. The adrenaline had done wonders for his grogginess but it was still lingering, he must have been drugged-

Dalyell seriously had had him chained to the bed? Patterson had threatened but never really carried through . . . Ed lowered his chin, once again eye to eye with the other man, and significantly more annoyed. What the hell had he done? His memory was foggy, he knew where he was but didn't remember anything he might have done that would have led to this . . . furthermore, and slightly more pressing, the orderly wasn't moving. He remained quite close, looming even, and everything about him was threatening. Or trying to be.

After another moment of silence, Ed graced the other man with a glare. "You gonna kiss me or what?"

When he started to speak, his barrel of a chest was so resonate Edward could hear the rumble before the words left his thick lips. "You shoved Dr. Lise."

Dr. Lise . . . Dalyell, his mind offered up foggily. Shoved? He could barely get out of bed, let alone-

Hakuro.

Fear gripped him; all grogginess faded, and he jerked on the bed, struggling to bring his hands together. He couldn't; the orderly had done his work well and they were too far apart. His throat felt tight, like the last time, and he forced a deep breath. Panic wasn't going to help.

"Ah, did I? How rude of me. How about you let me up so I can apologize-"

In reply, the orderly leaned in closer, almost nose to nose with him. He could smell the other man's aftershave. "The general arrested your lady friend."

His pulse was thudding in his ears, and to his right, he heard a machine start beeping. The orderly leapt away far too lightly for someone his size, and with his field of vision slightly cleared, Ed could see Dr. Lise Dalyell hurrying around the foot of his bed, pen trapped between her teeth and a clipboard in hand. She scribbled down something as she made it to his right side, twisted a knob that silenced the machine, and dropped the clipboard, rooting around in her coat.

"She's fine, Elric, she wasn't arrested. It was a test. Calm down."

"Test!?" What the fuck kind of test was this?! He gave another yank on his arms, but of course the bedframe held, he was far too weak for that. "Where is she, where's the-"

Dalyell came up with a syringe, holding his gaze the entire time. "Winry's with her grandmother. Edward, bring down your heart rate or I will. Calm down. There's no danger."

Even as she was speaking the orderly was nimbly at work on the handcuffs, and Ed blinked several times, gulping air. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the band of ice that seemed to cinch around his chest, couldn't get his lungs as inflated as they wanted to be.

Hyperventilation. Icy extremities. He was having a panic attack.

Knowing what it was and stopping it were two entirely different things, and only concentrated breathing exercises - what had been recommended by doctors for a long time, what he'd instinctively used as a kid to handle pain - seemed to help. The level of adrenaline in his system kept his heart rate artificially elevated despite it, but once his wrists were freed and the worst he did was bring them back down to his chest, the doctor seemed to realize that he was fully in control of himself.

"Thank you, Marcus. That will be all."

The mammoth withdrew to the door but didn't leave, and Dalyell ignored him, sitting on the mattress for the first time since she'd started treating him, holding his gaze intently. "You're doing very well, Elric. Keep breathing."

He did as he was told until some of the tightness in his chest had eased and her glances at the machines were less frequent. "The general, what happened-"

"The Rockbells are perfectly safe, Dr. Ackernath is in attendance as we speak. They did not appear distressed last I saw them."

"What about Hakuro-"

"He's long gone. He asked a few brief questions and left them alone. They're fine." She kept her voice steady and soothing, and he scowled. He had it together now and didn't need the baby talk, of course he'd freaked waking up like that -

As if reading his thoughts, she gave him a small smile. "Marcus gave you an immobilizing cocktail, it affects only voluntary muscle systems. You panicked and I was forced to sedate you to head off any cardiac damage. Your heart is fine," she added, as the machine blipped. "There was no cardiac event."

Panicked. More like irrational terror. Even looking back he couldn't figure out why, it wasn't like Hakuro would have actually hurt them-

Yet even the memory made his chest tighten again, and he deepened his breathing lest the machine give him away. Dalyell took his silence as interest.

"I couldn't be sure what had triggered the attack, whether it was your response to the general or your response to being essentially bound against your will, as I imagine you were while in enemy hands." There was no sugarcoating. "Torture victims often have extreme reactions to being placed into positions that make them feel helpless. I wanted to test that reaction before it happened in an uncontrolled environment."

There was no doubt she hadn't let it get as out of hand as the last one, and Edward swallowed, breaking eye contact and staring at the ceiling a moment. This . . . wasn't from that, was it? He'd been restrained before, the Germans had kept him a lot longer than the Cretians. He knew the difference, it wasn't like-

"Your reaction to Marcus was well within acceptable parameters for several moments, but then something happened after he told you that you shoved me. What was it?"

He hesitated, then faced her squarely. "I remembered that the general had been here, threatening Winry and Aunt Pinako." Then hearing that Winry had been arrested-

Her eyes were a dull shade of brown, lacking much sparkle but making up for it in sheer intensity. "And when we prevented you from stopping him, you were afraid he'd make good on those threats?"

". . . yeah." It wasn't like Hakuro really could hurt them, hearing that he'd only briefly questioned them meant he'd been going through the motions instead of seriously shaking them down. "I-" What was it about the idea that bothered him so much? He knew what Hakuro would and would not stoop to, but even so they didn't deserve it-

But the doctor was already scribbling in her chart. "You said he threatened them. Did he threaten to harm them physically?"

It was easier to answer her than he thought it'd be. "Emotionally. They're protecting me and I don't want to endanger them."

She made another notation. "We haven't discussed your experience."

Remarkably, he felt calmer than he had since he'd first woken. "Nothing to discuss."

"Dr. Patterson left detailed psychological notes in your file, but it appears he never discussed it directly with you."

It made him smile, just a little. "I guess he didn't feel I needed it."

"He didn't feel qualified." Her tone was blisteringly dry. "Did you recognize the soldier that shot you?"

It was painfully obvious where this was going. "Yes. I thought he was on the firing squad to create a diversion."

"Did you really." It was a drawl. "No fear that he was there to put you down gently?"

Ed suppressed a sudden urge to bristle. She made it sound like he was a dog. "Didn't really think about it."

Dalyell's smile wasn't much of one. "Lie to me, but don't lie to yourself. How aware of your situation were you?"

A lie. Maybe it was. He remembered pain, bucketloads of it. He remembered hitting the ground, knowing he had to get up, to fight, and a roar in his ears that drowned everything out. The grass came into focus when he tried to get his legs under him, but he was so damn heavy, and stretched out. His arms were twice as long as they'd been before, and his legs twice as flexible. He'd retched but it hadn't made him feel any better, and he'd struggled to his feet to look upon an ocean.

Maybe a part of him had realized, when he made eye contact with that last soldier, that there was no diversion Havoc could have successfully pulled off that would have gotten him out of there. His hands had been behind his back, transmuting shelter for himself had been out. Even if the entire Amestrian army had topped that other hill, even if Al and Mustang had been ready and waiting, one of those thousands of faceless shapes would have shot him.

But he'd gotten ready just the same. Just in case. If Havoc hadn't given up on him, even in those circumstances, it was stupid to give up on himself.

Al would never have forgiven him.

"I figured it out near the end."

"You were dizzy, nauseous, short of breath, had blurred vision, lack of balance, lack of muscular control and elasticity. All signs your brain would recognize as impending death. Even if you did believe you were going to get out of there, which frankly you're too seasoned a soldier for, your subconscious would not have been fooled."

Ed watched her steadily, and she frowned at him. "Even in your unconscious state you were screaming so consistently I initially thought it was caused by poor pain management. You flinched at loud noises and voices, something your brother said he'd never seen you do before. You thought you were going to die and you didn't know better until you woke up here. Admit it."

"Do all psychiatrists badger their patients?"

"You're supposed to be a genius. We're taking the quick route to see if you can handle it."

Apparently badgering _and_ baiting were on the table. "So what?"

"You won't deal with it here. Not enough time has passed, and as far as repressors go, you have more stamina than most. Just bear in mind, one day you're going to find yourself breaking down emotionally for no apparent reason, and this will be the reason. Let it happen."

Ed blinked at her. This was the weirdest psych eval he'd ever had. Not that he'd had that many, and not that the Germans really had a better understanding of the human psyche . . .

"I see."

Dr. Dalyell snorted, quietly. "I really doubt you do." She made one more notation, then got to her feet. "Your first reaction was pretty violent. If it repeats in the next few weeks, you stand a good chance of giving yourself a mild heart attack. With that in mind, I'm delaying your release-"

"What-"

"-until I have a better feeling of what happened to you out there," she continued. "You may move about the hospital freely in a wheelchair, and your water therapy will continue. Immediately after we will have sessions, where I will evaluate your mental health, and make my recommendation to your superior officer. Give it some thought, Elric. Your life has changed a great deal in a short amount of time. It's necessary to give yourself a chance to get settled in."

She was staring at his sunburned hand, and he frowned at her. "The automail's been gone for a while-"

Another bitter smile. "Has it?"

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I intended to have another part here, but I figured if I made you folks wait any longer to find out what happened to Ed I'd be doomed. ; ) I don't even think forty's gonna cut it anymore, as far as chapters go. Just think, if I could cram all the chapters together it'd still be a one-shot . . .

Standard typo disclaimer - posted without a beta. If you see anything please let me know! Next up we have . . . well, damn, we still have the Tringums to consult, the trial to finish, Al to kill Hakuro, Mustang to bail him out . . . lots to do!


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

There was disappointingly little fanfare when the doctor stepped out of the room, and Alphonse Elric craned his neck to get a glimpse in before it was firmly closed behind her.

"Lieutenant colonel, a word."

"Can I-"

"Now."

There was no unusual iron in her tone, but he followed her obediently. He'd probably get a lot more information out of Dr. Dalyell than he would his own brother, and he had a feeling what she wanted to discuss wouldn't be in nii-san's chart.

Dalyell was silent, her footsteps quick and sharp on the tiles as they crossed the hospital, heading for the administrative offices. She swept into her own, leaving her door open behind her, and he followed, taking it in. It was smaller than Patterson's, and less austere than he'd expected; fresh-cut flowers were on the table behind the desk, a comfortable and lumpy-yarned throw rug adorned the floor beneath the visitor's chairs, and the walls were papered with what looked like children's drawings. Only when she had taken a seat behind her desk did her bedside manner evaporate, and she slouched into the comfortable-looking leather chair with a groan, scrubbing her face in a painful looking fashion. There were two muffled thumps from beneath her desk - kicking her shoes off.

"The door, Elric."

"Oh." He closed it swiftly, slightly embarrassed to be caught staring as she shrugged out of her white coat irritably. This was certainly unexpected.

"I've put a hold on your brother's release, pending a psychological evaluation."

". . . what?" What the hell could have possibly happened between his leaving nii-san to drop off the briefing and now? He'd only been alone a few hours!

"General Hakuro insisted he be allowed to ask Edward a few questions, in preparation for putting him on the stand in the ongoing trials." She lifted her face, red from the scrubbing, and flipped open the folder she'd been carrying. Al didn't bother to hide his scowl.

That could explain it. "Went well, I take it?"

He got a surprisingly amused-looking grin. "My security clearance wasn't sufficiently high to allow me to sit in, but I interrupted when your brother's blood pressure reached a certain ceiling. He was in the process of trying to murder the general, and we had to restrain him." The grin faded. "He panicked and I sedated him."

All the questions - and no small agreement with Ed's sentiments - died on his tongue, and Al leaned forward in his chair. "What do you mean, panicked?"

She gestured at the folder. "It's absolutely a normal response after a soldier has been in enemy hands, tortured or not. Of course nothing about you brother _is_ normal, and his response was in fact atypical but not untreatable. I've actually completed the eval already, calm down," she added drolly, apparently at his expression. "He's as sane as you or I."

Al stared at her a moment. ". . . so why the hold?"

"I'm pissed off." Al carefully did not gape at the flippant admission. "If I didn't know better I'd say the general wound him up on purpose, directly against my recommendation. Because of his atypical reaction, I believe putting him on the stand at the trial and letting him be badgered for hours at a time would endanger his health and recovery." She eased a crink in her neck. "Unfortunately, he's behaving so well that if anyone were to ask for a consult that doctor would likely disagree with my opinion, based on how important that testimony would be and how politically sensitive the issue is."

The pieces fit together, but the truth was he simply didn't know her well enough - obviously - to assume. "But putting a hold on his release won't prevent that."

"The general was present when the event occurred. He'll mention it to his doctors, who will all immediately assume the same thing I did. He won't dare officially question it, and if he does he knows I'll raise hell."

That Hakuro had stopped by to visit Edward before moving on to the Rockbells wasn't that much of a surprise. In fact, the threat of questioning them was probably what set nii-san off in the first place. But panic . . . ? Or was it because they restrained him? "When you say atypical, what exactly do you mean?"

She was watching him closely, he realized, the blotches on her cheeks slowly fading as she balanced her chin on her hand. "We administered the standard cocktail for recalcitrant patients, one that provides a quick paralytic coupled with a muscle relaxer. No sedative, just a chemical restraint. Only after he wasn't able to move did that anger become panic, and I was forced to fully sedate him to lower his blood pressure. We let him come around and discussed it." She gestured at a fat file on the corner of her desk, inviting him to pick it up, so he did, grabbing the top document. It was a basic psychological evaluation, and Patterson's neat writing adorned almost every line.

"Your brother is a walking psychological nightmare, and he has been since we have record. You're well aware of your history." It was almost dismissive. "Unlike other soldiers taken as POWs, he has no fear of being held against his will, or being made to feel helpless. Even when restrained and physically threatened he had no more reaction than you or I would to being offered an ice cream on a hot day."

Al glanced back up from the page, not sure if he'd just confused what he'd read with what he'd heard. "What exactly was this test?" She'd threatened him? Of course he wasn't going to respond poorly to her, she was his physician-

She ignored the question completely. "He responded negatively only when someone else was threatened. Being unable to protect others triggers in him what I would expect to see when he is unable to protect himself. In that way his reaction, while appearing quite typical, was anything but. One might conclude he feels he himself has no value, or that his wellbeing is worthless in comparison with others."

Almost the same words were shining up at him in dark ink, and Al found himself shaking his head. "That's not true-"

"I know." She picked up her chin, waving her hand at the folder, and Al turned the page to scan the back. Unfortunately, Patterson's conclusion was that the preliminary evaluation was inconclusive and needed further study. Study that he either never got around to or never got an opportunity to start. Al glanced at the date; it was almost a year ago.

These were Patterson's first impressions of Ed.

"He doesn't see himself as worthless, but he does see others - certain others, absolutely, all others, I can't tell - as extremely valuable. He could be acting on obligation, that he owes them something, or be assigning value subjectively . . . without a random supply of subjects it's impossible to get more specific."

Al looked over the doctor with new eyes. She had Patterson's basis to work from, but for someone who'd been working with his brother for less than a week she certainly knew more about him than they knew about her. They were trusting her with a lot, and it was obvious there was a lot more to her than he'd seen even as her patient himself. "He's always been protective."

"He apparently feels he has to be, particularly with your histories. As I said, it's nothing that would get him discharged. Just atypical."

Al glanced at the folder again, noting the next few sheets detailed the extensive nerve damage done him, and he closed the folder before his eyes absorbed any more. "So you think he's okay."

She raised an eyebrow. "I believe I said he's a psychologist's nightmare. Just a truly frighteningly well-adjusted one." She pointed an index finger at him, waggling it thoughtfully. "And don't give me that look. You're no better than he is. Don't doubt for a minute that there's one of these with your name on it in the desk behind me." Her expression became more serious, and Al resisted looking around her to see if his was as thick as Ed's. Probably not by half.

"I think he's a perfectionist, and I think he failed. He had a brush with death, not his first, but the first that wasn't his choice. He didn't step in front of that firing squad to sacrifice himself for anyone. He was dragged there against his will and shot. There's a difference and I want him to recognize that."

Al nodded. She was right; they were both perfectionists, in a way, and Ed had already admitted that he screwed up. And having lived with him all this time, he knew that nii-san didn't respond well to failure. But Franklin was covered, if not completely safe, so he wasn't sure Edward would see this as a failure as much as he would a screw-up. One was permissible. The other was not.

Dalyell waited until she had his full attention again before continuing. "As far as he knows, I am still completing the evaluation. I want you to keep it that way. It's to force him to think about things a little more than he'd like, and it'll be good for him. If he wants to talk, let him. Do not repeat this discussion with his superior officer."

Al blinked at her. "Hakuro? You think I'd tell that-"

She cut the air with her hand. "I was referring to Mustang." Al stopped, confused, and she scowled. "I want him to worry about this too."

There was a sudden warm feeling growing in his heart, and Al examined it before deciding that it was admiration. This was a change, all right, but it was a change he could get used to. "He is worried, you know."

"Not enough." She glowered at him across her desk. "If your brother wasn't so screwed up to start with he certainly would be after this. No one should be able to take all this in stride like Edward seems to be."

Al hesitated. ". . . I don't think . . . it's as easy for him as it looks."

Dalyell thinned her lips, then gave him a nod. "I think you're right."

- x -

"Have a seat, colonel."

She obeyed, not going as far as making herself comfortable as the general glanced presumably over the documents she'd sent over earlier in the day.

"It seems congratulations is in order."

"Sir?"

His steel blue eyes flicked up. "When I left, Parliament was leaning towards accepting the Cretian treaty. They lessened the concession of land, but it's still a wide enough belt to grant Amestris better geographical defenses. Otherwise they left it untouched. Considering we left her with her sovereignty instead of making her a protectorate, I'm amazed she even went that far."

Good news indeed. It appeared Tolya was content to hold, and Major General Armstrong would be glad to get back to her northern palace. "I'm relieved to hear it."

"As was I. It's the first treaty this Parliament has had to negotiate from the winner's perspective. They were too comfortable with giving concessions of their own."

Obviously he was going somewhere with it, and he didn't keep her waiting too long. "It was the only concern I had with redeploying you, colonel. With that out of the way we can begin processing immediately."

She inclined her head. "The paperwork should be in order."

"Impeccable as always. Your record speaks well of you," he glanced at another folder on his desk, "save the incident involving the assassination of the Fuhrer."

Which thankfully their duplicity had made nearly impossible to prosecute. From witness testimony, it was hard to determine if she had been working to save Bradley or to assist those who wanted him dead. Once the higher-ups had learned the partial truth, it had been easier to simply leave her where she was. She hadn't been the mastermind, after all, just as Havoc got away nearly scot-free for the Northern Rebellion. He was just following orders.

She shouldn't be surprised it was still in her permanent file, however. Or even if it wasn't, that it was still in his mind. Hakuro had a long memory.

When she said nothing, he sighed, putting down her transfer papers - unsigned, she noticed - and folding his hands over them. "South is rather uninteresting. Take it from someone who was stationed there for thirteen years."

She knew her smile was strained. "All due respect, general, I think I could use some peace and quiet."

"I suppose I can understand that. You nearly died just this last year, several times, and without ever being deployed. Then again, while it's been rather exciting in Central, I expect that too has come to an end." He cocked his head, studying her, and she imagined there was a great distance between them, that he wasn't really close enough to see anything that she might be giving away. He wasn't. Oh, he likely knew she wasn't happy, but it was doubtful he knew why.

She wasn't even sure herself.

But regardless of how she felt about it, the paperwork was spotless. He could only give her as unpleasant an assignment as the three she had requested, and she knew she didn't need to trade anything with him for the favor. To do anything less to the Prime Minister's Chief of Security would be scandalous, and he needed his cloister of goldcoats more than ever, if Parliament was pleased with the treaty.

"I see you want to take your current team with you."

Another concession he'd have to make to her, one way or another. "They work well and are accustomed to the way I do things."

"And the way you do things, you're satisfied with that?"

She felt an eyebrow curl before she could stop herself. "I think my record speaks for itself."

He held up a hand placatingly. "Far be it for me to disagree," he rumbled. "But this will be only the second time in your military career that you'll be essentially choosing your superior officer. That officer may not allow you the same rein Mustang did."

She simply accepted his statement without comment, and he sighed. "Colonel, while your paperwork is impeccable, your potential as an officer will not be developed in these assignments you've chosen. Yet by the same token, you have little actual leadership experience. You've been a subordinate of Mustang's since Ishbal, and I don't need to tell you that almost everything you've done in the last decade has been largely at the direction of his strings."

He expected a reaction so she didn't give him one.

"I dare say those strings have not been severed even though my office door closed behind you. Everything you've done, both personally and in your military career, has been for his advancement, not yours. Where are your strengths, Riza?"

She narrowed her eyes at the use of her given name, but didn't protest it. He'd press until he found a way to get to her, but ultimately it would get him nowhere. "I believe I would be of most use to the military reorganizing the South, sir. The discipline is somewhat lacking and all recent reports I've had to request from that area have been below acceptable standards-"

"You're a hell of a marksman. You were well on your way to becoming one of the top snipers in this military when you happened to save the life of a major who wasn't watching out for his own ass out in the desert."

That was high praise, coming from him. It made her suspicious. "Yessir, but-"

"If not for Mustang's involvement with your career, would you have continued on that path?"

She shook her head. "Marksmen are only necessary for war, general sir. I don't anticipate that we'll be having one in the near future-"

"A sniper of your caliber could start one in less than an hour," he cut her off. "Wars happen. Creta might be signing the treaty only to get her feet under her again. If you want to be a logistics officer for the rest of your life I'll sign your top choice, colonel, but for once, why not try having a brain of your own?"

She smiled at his obvious barb. "Are you saying you find the situation in South acceptable, sir?"

"I'm assigning Major General Armstrong to South, colonel. I'd prefer to keep the two of them on opposite poles if possible, but these two cities will have to do." He made a slight gesture. "I could assign you as Armstrong's assistant, if you like. You are apparently quite well suited for taking dictation and keep filing cabinets in order."

She knew it was supposed to sting, but the surprise came with just how much. "I would kill him, sir." Though having him around would certainly be nice. He did have a bit of a charm about him, and so long as she didn't have to babysit him, he would be an exceptionally fair commanding officer. It was more incentive than it seemed to hold fast her to her three chosen assignments in South.

"A fragmentation grenade exploded feet from him and the shrapnel that nearly killed his sister only penetrated a few inches into his back. He may well be bulletproof. And it's the only assignment in South I'm willing to sign off on," he finished bluntly. "Are you indicating you would prefer something else?"

He couldn't possibly deny her all the assignments she'd requested. He had to know Mustang would force his hand. "What is the general suggesting?"

"A good sniper division is as skilled at stopping potential wars as they are starting them. There's a trainer position opening up here in Central for such a specialized division, now that we have a military budget again." There was no small trace of satisfaction in his voice; he'd been fighting for more money since Parliament was first formed. For the next few years, at least, he'd probably get all that he could out of Mustang. "I want you to oversee it."

She found herself leaning back slightly in the chair. "Oversee the trainers?"

"I imagine you'd get the elite trainees, if you wanted them," he shrugged, closing the folder containing her hard-thought picks dismissively. As if he'd just made her decision for her. "It would be your program to run as you saw fit."

Giving her far more than she asked for, but keeping her in Central. Why -

Because there was no place for the rest of the team in a division like that. Except Havoc. Breda, Fuery, Falman, Sheska - they weren't snipers by any stretch, and probably could not be trained up. Sheska she could keep as her admin assistant, probably, but the other three . . . they'd be essentially taken from her and Mustang. The team would be split in half.

Divide and conquer.

"A rifleman with good aim is not a sniper," she murmured. "You say run this training operation as I see fit?"

He inclined his head. "Your intuition saved our Prime Minister's life, colonel. You won't have a bottomless budget, of course-"

"I'll need other officers-"

A careless wave. "Of course. Your current team can transfer with you. I daresay between Breda and Falman you won't have any trouble coming up with realistic and appropriate training missions, and I trust you to mask Fuery's medical condition sufficiently."

Her chest tightened. "What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

Another smile. "No need for that tone, colonel. I simply mean the man cannot pass a medical examination, and he probably never will again. I've waived the requirement as he was crippled in the line of duty-"

"Kain Fuery is hardly crippled, sir-"

"He cannot run more than a mile without collapsing. He is on a strict diet that has to be specially met by the military dieticians- it's a medical definition, colonel, not a slur on him personally," he added, when he could see the warning in her eyes. "I trust that you can guide him to a path that will allow him to excel in other ways."

Giving her the team, Fuery and all - but of course he had to, Fuery was a hero, and Mustang wouldn't let-

"I realize this would keep you in Central, but I can buffer you from any protest from the Prime Minister." Hakuro leaned back in his leather chair, folding his hands in his lap. "You've been on his strings long enough. Even your chosen appointments are all in response to him - you're running because he told you to run. You would be a fool to pass this up, Riza, and I won't offer it again."

It wasn't running. It was simply that South needed the kind of discipline that she could give it, an office to break down and build from scratch. But head of a sniper training division, it wasn't anything to scoff at. In fact, a decade ago it would have been a dream come true and Hakuro knew it.

It was, however, not a decade ago. And it would be putting herself in his debt. She was free of any obligations to him right now, and regardless of what he'd said Roy would always see and treat her the same as he always did. He'd ensure, for as long as he was Prime Minister, that she'd be fine and exactly where she wanted to be. He still thought of her as his subordinate.

But if that was true, then she didn't have to worry about that debt until Roy was no longer Prime Minister. Even if he wasn't re-elected in four years' time, that was still four years training the state's best snipers-

The corner of the general's lips twitched. "Yes, you'd be on my leash, but frankly, you will be whether it's here or in South. And it's past time you started doling out leashes of your own."

She gave him a professional smile. "I appreciate the general's offer. However, I feel-"

"Honored, yes, of course." He gave her a condescending smile of his own. "Your new assignment begins in two weeks. Prepare your staff for transfer."

She balked. "With all due respect-"

"It's an order, colonel. One I doubt the Prime Minister will object to." His tone was ever so polite, and she closed her mouth. The hell he wouldn't object, he'd see that Hakuro created a position for her and why, and he'd insist that her wishes to transfer to South be honored. Arguing it with the general was pointless. In the end, he'd capitulate.

"The creation of the division was plainly spelled out in the proposal submitted to Parliament in this year's development plan, and I think if we hadn't had so much excitement lately Roy would have already hand-picked you for it. He won't stand in the way of your promotion and career, he's already impeded too much." The smile was growing, slowly but surely. "Dismissed, colonel, and congratulations."

- x -

"We're sure about this? Because once we say something to Win-"

His brother was already nodding. "-we can't take it back," he finished. "And we can't do that to her."

Russell was standing at the foot of his bed, pulling small paper bags out of his canvas duffel and laying them out on the small, wheeled table that normally held Ed's meal tray. In this case, dinner was over, and he was starting to feel well enough that the food they were offering was beginning to taste.

Bad.

Unfortunately, what Russ was unpacking was unlikely to taste any better. Better for him, though, certainly.

"We're sure." Russell Tringum glanced at his own brother, getting a nod from Fletcher. The younger blond was there free and clear, save the arm wrapping, and was sitting indian style on one end of the cot that had been in his room since he'd been admitted, that Al and Winry had been sharing. Al was on the other side, and the pages of Patterson's plan - and a copy of Pinako's medical chart - were scattered between them.

"It'll be riskier for her than us," Fletcher murmured, staring at the papers. "I mean, it might not work at all . . . I think the alchemy part will be just fine, it's science, but you have to understand a million things could happen. And healing alchemy isn't an instant fix." Fletcher exchanged a glance with Russ. "We can take all the precautions in the world but if she's bleeding more than we think even now . . . trying this and failing will shorten what time she has left."

Ed reclined against his pillows, letting his head loll in their general direction. He was far too worn out to really sit up, but he was pretty damn proud of himself for staying awake this long. Hadn't fallen asleep once. "I know. It's her choice." Not that a choice between a risky procedure or certain death was much of a choice, for him. So long as the Tringums were in no danger, he wasn't sure how Pinako could refuse them. Other than because she didn't want the Tringums to feel responsible if she died on the table-

"If it's her choice, why do you have that look on your face?"

Ed shrugged eloquently. "We should get our hands on some bleach and acetone, just in case she says no."

The other three alchemists all paused, each one mentally combining those ingredients before Fletcher laughed.

"No, we're not going to chloroform her. And you're not going at all." The young man uncurled himself from the cot and stood, exchanging a grin with his brother. "You're barely awake as it is. Besides, it isn't like we can do it tonight. We need a surgeon, remember?"

"A whole team of surgeons," Al corrected, grabbing the papers and stacking them neatly. "We'll go run it by Ackernath while Russ treats you. Since you don't trust_ me _. . ."

Ed made a face at him. He wasn't sure if they were putting on a show for the Tringums or themselves, but he'd known the instant Al had come back from giving Mustang his report that his little brother knew something had happened. Probably because Dalyell had told him. Since she'd decided to delay his release she'd had to, but he was still a little cross with her. He was used to doctors threatening him with this stuff, but not with the actual carrying through. Patterson had spoiled them.

"Make sure to phrase it so he can't refuse," Ed called as they both headed out into the hall. "Offer to pay him twice as much. Worked the first time!"

Neither acknowledged him, and Ed slumped back on his pillows, considering pouting before deciding that it wasn't necessary. Russ knew exactly what his problem was, even if he didn't know about the events of earlier in the day, so there was no need to pretend he felt better than he did. In a few minutes he was going to enjoy a nice, short transmutation and probably be out until late into the following morning.

Unless there really had been more strain to his heart than Dalyell had alluded to.

"They get along quite well," Russ remarked casually, carefully measuring out ingredients into a small funnel of paper. Ed closed his eyes, nodding ever so slightly.

"They always have."

"I suppose that's true." The pleasant whisper of powder on paper. "I guess we didn't meet on the best of terms but things seem to have worked themselves out."

Ed found his eyes opening all by themselves, and he gave Russell a curious look. "Feeling sentimental now that you've broken him out of the slammer?"

Russ shook his head, though he still looked amused. "It came up in conversation today, kind of reminded me of the good old days. Apparently I can't visit Creta. Ever."

It took him a second to figure it out, and Ed groaned, closing his eyes again. Franklin had been on the stand today, and apparently he'd gotten as far as telling the court - and Russ, since he was probably an expert witness - about their first time speaking with the Cretians. "Listen, you're blond, you're an ass, it just fit-"

"It's okay. This was the second time, and we almost got executed the second time we pretended to be you two, so I guess we're even now." Paper crumpled. "Though you pretended to be me a lot longer than-"

"Aaaauugghh," Ed growled in protest. "Knock it off. You're flattered."

A quiet chuckle. "I'm just saying, I didn't expect to be here a year ago."

Ed opened his eyes and stared at the other man a moment. Russell tried to hide his self-consciousness by measuring the potassium repeatedly.

"What do you mean? I didn't expect to be here either-"

Tringum shook his head. "I gave you that information on the church and told you to come back alive. You didn't." He dumped the potassium and tried again. "I heard you showed up briefly a few years later and trashed Central, but didn't really give you a lot of thought until I got a call from Mustang one night telling me to get my ass to the HQ hospital and not ask any questions." He shook his head. "You two really scared the hell out of him."

Ed shrugged uncomfortably. "Did we ever get around to telling you thanks for that?"'

Another grin. "Oh, I'd say you paid us when you showed us the Gate and then jumped into it to save the rest of us. It was incredibly stupid, but I appreciated the gesture."

Ed hesitated. Why the heart to heart? Had Dalyell told them to do this, as part of his 'therapy'? "You saved Al's life. He would have died if not for you two."

"He would have died anyway if Mustang hadn't given us the Incomplete Stone. Besides, we weren't the first alchemists to work on him that night." He was finally satisfied with the potassium, and carefully poured it into the funnel. "Actually had to go look a couple of the symbols up. Mustang didn't do a great job, but for a combustion-type alchemist he knew his stuff. Probably learned it when he was thinking about committing his own transgression."

Ed mulled that over for a second. So Mustang knew a bit of healing alchemy . . .? Then again, technically anyone who understood the human body on a chemical level could perform 'healing' alchemy. That's all it was, so long as the chemical changes made didn't interfere with the life of the organism. "I think Al's got the knack for the same reason. I mean, he was nine when we were able to completely construct an adult female doll."

Not that they'd gotten it right, exactly . . .

And not that knowing the human body so well had prevented them from being completely mystified by the very pregnant Mrs. Hughes. Knowing how the body worked chemically was only a very small portion of understanding a human being.

"He's not bad," Russ allowed. "The two of you are just too damned talented for your own good." He seemed at a loss, and frowned at his piles of elements and minerals. "On that subject," he added, clearly reluctantly, "I sort of want to ask you something. You don't have to answer," he added hastily, and Ed just looked at him.

Russell took a deep breath. "At the time I didn't really care - I mean, I was glad you were back, in a way it was nice to have been a part of that, but . . . we weren't close. I - I don't even know if we're close now. I think of you as a colleague and the guy I wanted to fucking kill when I thought Fletch- it doesn't matter," he hurried on. "When . . . the Gate spat you back out, you were catatonic. Al supposed from the memory of the pain of having your automail experimented with."

He looked for confirmation so Ed gave him a single, short nod, no longer feeling remotely sleepy. Russ noticed, and his lips tightened slightly.

"Today, in the trial . . . Franklin explained what happened. What he saw," he clarified. "He said you became unresponsive. He's fifteen but he still made a damn near perfect doll, I don't think it was a mistake." Russ took a deep breath. "Is that . . . do you remember . . .?"

Ed just stared at him, completely floored. What did that have to do with his heart . . .? "Why?" He hated how strangled his voice sounded, and he struggled into a slightly straighter position.

Russ held out a hand, misinterpreting his motion. "Hey, take it easy, you don't have to say . . . I was just . . . I never asked when you woke up. When Fletch and I left you were unresponsive, the next morning you were walking and talking. You weren't fine, I mean, you were subdued, but you were a hell of a lot better than I expected. Clearly you snapped yourself out of it this time around, too, or maybe Franklin left something out," he allowed. "I just . . . if it happens again, I'd like to know . . . you know. How to help you," he finished lamely.

He turned the memory over several times, then shook his head, once. "I don't know." He remembered . . . going, how frighteningly easy it had been, and then he remembered his body being pulled and arranged, then being yanked to his feet and dragged for what felt like forever before being dumped in front of the firing squad. "I guess you'll have to ask Franklin."

Russ was apparently trying hard to seem understanding without pitying - it wasn't a good look for him and Ed was tempted to tell him so.

"How did Mustang . . .? Do you remember that either?"

"He drowned me." It was fully possible that's what Luis had done to him, too, come to think of it. There had been a tub involved. "Stuck my face in a basin of water until I reacted." All he remembered of that was inhaling water, then getting flung back into painful air and hearing the bastard talking to him.

Russ just gave him a quiet nod. "Thanks. For telling me."

Ed shrugged, and Russ picked up his next ingredient on the line. "Was it . . . like the automail?"

"Can we not talk about this?" It was exactly what Dalyell wanted him to talk about, but . . . not with Russ.

And not with Al, his brain murmured. It's Russ or her.

She won't run to Al, he shot back.

How do you know, his brain retorted, and he sighed in frustration.

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine. Tash wasn't able to shake Sorn up much, I think his story's going to hold." Russ bent his head over some sulfur. "He's a tough kid to read."

"Yeah," Ed agreed, and Russell shook the funnel, distributing the contents.

"He's having a rough time."

Rough probably wasn't coming even close. He had no friends in the world right now, absolutely no one who understood was there, to stand by his side even though he was wrong. "I wish he had an Al." Oddly, the thought almost made his eyes water, so he closed them, leaning back into the pillows.

"Yeah," Russ agreed, and he felt the mattress sink as the other alchemist knelt on it. "He could use a Fletch right about now."

- x -

**Author's Notes: **Look! Progress! Dr. Dalyell isn't as crazy as everyone thought. ; ) And Hakuro is still quite obviously up to something . . . a lot is happening simultaneously on this 'day' in the fic, so I'm sorry to cut off here. Mustang hasn't forgotten about the boys an d he'll deal with the general first thing next chapter.

As usual, posted without a beta. Thanks, Dailenna, for pointing out the errors last chapter! I trust your eyes to see what my crossing ones will not.

So, want to hear my guess at chapter length now? ; ) Four more chapters, assuming none of the other characters decide to complicate things more.


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He loosened his collar gratefully, propping his feet on the coffee table and letting his head loll against the back of the sofa. It was a rather nice shape for it; the gentle curve of the leather supported his neck quite comfortably, and he might have drifted off before he heard the office door close.

There was a long pause, in which the person who entered attempted to determine if he was awake, so he lazily reached for the glass on the end table, raising his head only enough to sip the icy amber liquid.

"Am I interrupting?"

It burned nicely all the way down, and he took another pull on it before replacing it on the end table. Unwinding was prudent. Getting toasted was not.

"You should join me. Amestris hasn't ratified a treaty in almost a decade."

"So this is a celebratory drink?"

He didn't respond, and after a moment he heard the general place a heavy-sounding pile of documents near his feet and pad softly to the refreshment bar. There was no clink of ice, but a generous dollop of something - the port, probably - sloshed into a glass, and eventually the general returned to take one of the overstuffed chairs to his left. Then a not unpleasant silence settled about them, and Roy Mustang opened his eye and studied the shadows on the ceiling.

"Why are you still pursuing the Elrics?"

"You have a hell of a way of celebrating," Hakuro responded drily, and Mustang picked up the glass of bourbon, taking another slow sip.

"When they were twelve and eleven, respectively, they saved you and your family from terrorists. They changed the way basic Amestrian citizens viewed State Alchemists. They fought and even died to save the country from a four hundred year old plot of continuous war." None of this should have been news. "Now one of them delayed a hostile army and the other prevented the annihilation of a town. You normally have more respect for heroes."

"You forgot that Edward Elric saved your life," the general replied, letting the ruby port warm in his hand.

"I didn't think you'd see that as a redeeming moment."

"It's still worth mentioning, since he's done it more than once. One would think the man would learn."

Man. Not boy. "Why do you dislike them?" He didn't put any more emotion into it than before, and the general sighed quietly.

"I don't trust them."

"They saved your family."

"They were the only survivors left standing in a circle that took the lives of seven thousand men," he replied, in exactly the same reasonable tone. "Perhaps they didn't transmute that Stone, and perhaps they did. But if they didn't, can you truly be sure that they wouldn't have?"

So that was it. All this time, he was doubting them for Liore. Roy felt himself smiling, a little sadly. It wasn't his place to reveal that truth to Hakuro, and he wasn't sure the general would believe him if he did. As skeptical of alchemy as he was now, and that had as much to do with him as those two little boys . . .

He nodded, his hair whispering across the leather. "Yes. I can be sure."

"And why does that not surprise me."

Roy weighed the pros and cons of giving this man more information than he already had. "I've seen Edward Elric take a life with my own eyes. He has no taste for it."

He'd seen Fullmetal do everything, even risk taking a blade to the gut, to prevent the death of his mute female attacker. And he was still no more certain than before that Edward would have walked out of that cottage alive if he hadn't been there, hadn't issued that order. Hadn't received that instant obedience.

Hakuro was silent a while. "He seems to have had no trouble mowing down the Cretian forward guard."

"I assure you he took no pleasure in it." Mustang leaned up, letting the rush of blood to his brain fade before he picked up his glass. "Is that why you attacked him this morning? Or was it because I took Alphonse off the table?"

"I was evaluating him."

"He has a physician for that."

"A physician that's placed him on a hold pending a complete psychiatric workup. One he should have had a long time ago." The general nudged one of the folders he'd placed on the table with a booted toe. "I had a few moments on my hands yesterday evening, and I had the Elrics' debriefings pulled from their reappearance last year. You should look over it again."

He had no desire to do so, but the general's nudge had sent some of the documents spilling out, and the corner of the page bore Falman's instantly recognizable hand, elegantly describing something unimaginable. "Trying to figure out when the automail disappeared, were you?"

Hakuro looked slightly startled. "And if I truly disliked them, as you put it, I would have gone after the Rockbells, who are doubtlessly covering for him, and would have been the most likely suspects to assist Elric in making the armor look like automail."

Falman had revealed the day before that Hakuro had pulled Sorn out of his sedation several hours prior to the scheduled time, and had spoken to him before Hawkeye had been able to provide the boy his 'official' story of the events. It was no surprise Franklin hadn't thought anything of revealing that Edward's automail had in fact only been armor, and that it had to have happened before the conflict with the Cretians.

Of course, his reviewing that debriefing was rather stupid, since he'd apparently seen the automail port being installed with his own eyes. Hakuro knew damn well that Edward Elric had reappeared in Amestris without the limbs. He would assume, as they meant for him to, that Irving had had an amplifier they'd hoarded away, and Edward had used that instead sometime in the last six months.

"The Rockbells are having a difficult time right now." He put a sufficient amount of warning into it, and took another sip of bourbon as the general inclined his head.

"I noticed. And I'm well aware of your relationship to them." Roy gave him a glare that he ignored. "I was merely using them as an example. And since you brought up the Irvings, I'll use yours as well."

Roy gestured with the glass. "By all means."

"Right after Full Metal blocked an attack meant to take your life, he was caught by Craege Irving. They had a brief argument, and then Alex Armstrong arrived and barely saved Elric's. He was badly wounded, and in no small amount of pain when he unwisely left the hospital to prevent the disbursal of poison-laced newspapers throughout Central."

Hakuro was watching him very closely, port still untouched in his palm. "I assume he was injured even before that, in whatever situation drove you from your schedule and the Academy to deal with personally. Yet he fought anyway, the two officers with him say he was able to move like a regular soldier outside of the sling his automail was in, due to damage causing it to be unusable."

Roy was still, letting his lack of reaction be interpreted as it would. "And this has relevance . . ."

"Pain that would have incapacitated you or me was bearable to him, even after the agony he suffered at the hands of those in the other 'world' the Elrics claim to have visited. This afternoon Sorn revealed that Elric checked out after half an hour of torture. It seems to me," and the general finally took a sip of the port, "that he has yet to recover from his previous experience."

Roy silently applauded the man. So he _had _figured it out, he knew the limbs had been replaced before automail could be attached. Even if he didn't know the circumstances. Now that he knew automail-reminiscent pain paralyzed Fullmetal, he'd probably also pursue the uranium bomb that much harder, thinking it had been robbed of is power because they'd used it for a human transmutation.

Abruptly it occurred to him that that wasn't the worst deduction Hakuro could make. In fact, it would probably answer all of his questions. "A hundred years wouldn't help. Have you ever been taken as a POW, general?"

The older man shook his head. "Thank God, no. But just a taste of automail-like pain was enough to put him right back into the same condition he was in when Alphonse found him in the enemy base. Frankly I'm amazed he was able to stand long enough to let Havoc shoot him."

Mustang killed the bourbon, then bit one of the ice cubes in half, spitting the larger piece back into the glass. Hakuro rose to his feet a little stiffly, snagging the decanter and setting it on the coffee table, beside the many folders. "If I thought for one second he still had an amplifier of some kind, he'd be fully sedated in a maximum security facility by now. He's a liability, Mustang. You should discharge him."

Edward Elric, a liability. He actually laughed. "He's been a liability since he's been alive, general. I knew that when I put him on that train to impress you."

"I didn't say he was unimpressive. But he panicked over nothing, Roy. He's done. You can't send him out again."

"I need him." He accepted the gesture, pouring himself more bourbon before he ate all the ice. "He's the director of the Academy, and I'm not ready to put Alphonse there just yet. And if you think he's a liability now, imagine what he'd do off a leash."

"You need a certified alchemist as director," the general murmured.

"Otherwise I'd be defeating the purpose. The Academy is designed to continue attracting alchemy talent to Amestris as well as keeping our other science disciplines occupied. You may not trust him, but thousands of people who don't know him as well as you do." He listened to that sentence echo in the air a moment, then put the bourbon down.

The general chuckled. "Thousands of people who don't know you trust you as well. Yet I seriously doubt you've ever given me an entire truth in your military career."

"I would prefer to continue a cooperative relationship with you," he said slowly, relaxing again against the back of the couch. "But with Creta well and truly out of the way, and with Drachma playing so nicely with us, I can't see anything on the horizon that would actually force our hands."

Hakuro was silent a moment, then a tiny slurp echoed across the darkening room. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Mustang. I'll be more than happy to cooperate with you until your resignation. Depending on the circumstances, probably after as well," he allowed, and Mustang barked out a laugh.

"That will be a long time coming. Are you certain you can commit to that?"

The general hmmed noncommitally, and Roy opened his eye again, noting the shadows were much darker than before. There really wasn't some angle of Hawkeye's assignment he'd missed, was there? He wasn't the kind of man that would threaten her outright like that, and if he hadn't stooped to it in all these years he wouldn't consider taking her life-

"No need to be alarmed, Roy. It's already done. I would be astonished if you actually chose to run in the next election, and even if you do, I can wait a few more years."

Mustang refused to be ruffled, watching the ceiling. "Had you already celebrated with your generals before coming to see me?"

The general's laugh was quite pleasant. "Do you know why I don't like you? I'm certain we've never discussed it, but I've never hid my feelings on the matter."

"You liked me well enough when it was your career I was bolstering."

"Indeed." The general's voice was almost fond. "Then, when I had garnered the Fuhrer's favor and was poised to have the position I now hold, only before it was castrated, you assassinated him." He sipped the wine, and Roy was content to let him continue. "And claimed he was a monster created through alchemy. After using one of your own officers to operate in your place and start a rebellion that eventually sparked the people to demand a representative government once the Fuhrer was gone. So not only did you undo all my hard work, you obliterated any chances of my rising to power in the same fashion again."

Mustang considered grabbing the bourbon again. That did explain the persistent dislike of Havoc, as well, for playing the part. "You were far from mind, if that's any consolation."

"It isn't." The general's voice was only slightly more stern. "On to round two, shall we? After demoting yourself and making it nearly impossible for me to make you more miserable than you already were, you made a hero of yourself in the Thule Invasion - once again based on preposterous alchemy and the Elrics, I might add - and rose in the new ranks as quickly as I did. Also making it nearly impossible for me to make you miserable. The election race was neck and neck but I did have the added bonuses of being more experienced and a family man. Two things which have been your downfall, whether you've realized it or not."

Mustang blinked. Surely Hakuro wasn't going to start on him for not being married. Surely. He'd scream at Maes' grave until he was hoarse for ever putting the idea into any of their heads if the general's next words were 'get a wife.'

"I am confident I would have won. But, yet again, improbable alchemy and the Elrics arrived in the nick of time, with the promise of the most powerful military weapon the world has ever seen. One my own scientists tell me to this day could have been everything it was billed as. Oddly impotent, though, when it mysteriously detonated." He paused. "Although, in hindsight, the fact that it didn't go off when the Elrics arrived is a miracle, if Alphonse damaged it like he claims he did getting it here in the first place."

He knew it wasn't wise, but he was fairly amused at this point. "You truly have no idea how lucky we were."

"But this time, this time I have you by the balls. Indirectly," he allowed, and Roy gave up, glancing over at him curiously.

"What do you possibly think giving Hawkeye a good job will accomplish? Besides make her happy?" If he was going to threaten her safety outright, he might as well have it now.

The general's look was positively pitying. "You've heard it so many times from so many different people that I feel ridiculous myself telling you. So let me put it this way." He upended the glass, and Roy was surprised to see the port was gone. "I am insanely proud of my career, Roy. I have done a truly exceptional job and I see the fruits of my labors every day."

Mustang snorted. "You blindly obeyed orders - orders you knew were wrong - for at least half that career."

"Probably more than half," Hakuro allowed. "And some of those orders led to disaster, I'll grant you. But the consequences of not obeying those orders would have been far, far more severe, and not just for me. Those barracked with me suffered the same as I."

And that was just as untrue. "A true officer protects his men."

He got a nod of the glass. "That's true only when your commanding officer isn't also your unit's mother."

Roy just stared at him, and the general sighed. "I wanted - and still want - to be Prime Minister because it's the last promotion left to me. My daughter is expecting. I'm soon to be a grandfather."

Reality fell away, and Mustang watched the general - more stiffly, it seemed - rise and bring the port over as well. Roy waited until the glass had been poured, then raised his bourbon. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." They drank, and Hakuro settled back into the chair. "You've done everything in the opposite order, Mustang, and that's not necessarily wrong, but you're running out of time. You put all your effort into this career and largely ignored the other. Oh, you made your gestures, to the Elrics, Elysia, and Sorn, you dated and played the social scene, but you didn't have time for more than a glance in the window." He smiled, and it occurred to Roy that he'd rarely actually seen the man smile. Not in over twelve years had he seen the older man smile like that.

"My CO is a beautiful, wonderful woman, and I wouldn't trade my children for anything. I knew why you wanted those alchemists, and even as young as they were - children, they were barely older than my own - I wanted to repay them for protecting what was dear to me. You were young and impetuous, and frankly you still are, but I knew of Hawkeye from my own assistant, and I knew she'd keep an eye on them. I knew you'd protect them as you have traditionally protected your subordinates. And I knew after Laboratory Five that I had made a mistake, both with them and you."

He studied the glass in the dying light. "You've made a mistake, too, a pretty grave one, and I think you knew it when you made it. You thought the consequences would be better, given two losing battles, and you made your decision the way you always do. Carefully, thinking of logistics and gains and losses. But there are certain decisions that can't be likened to war, or chess, and while I may call my wife my commanding officer and she certainly is, in every sense, our relationship is much simpler than rules and regulations."

He was. He was telling him to get a wife. And like Tolya, he had already picked the woman. Mustang almost groaned. "Are you finished?"

Hakuro gave him a rare amused grin. "Has it sunk in yet?"

"We just got done enumerating all the reasons you don't like me."

"I don't," Hakuro agreed. "But I do respect you, particularly after these last two weeks. And I can guarantee you that once you hold your own son or daughter for the first time, you will begin to resent the time you have to be in this office, wiping the asses of Parliament because they're too tender to do it themselves. I have every intention of encouraging that resentment, and trust me when I say that you will be thanking me when you step down. Don't get me wrong, you'll still be wiping asses," he added. "But it's a much more rewarding investment."

Roy began to laugh. He laughed until he was fighting back tears, and once he got ahold of himself he downed the bourbon, in case it happened again. "You're going to force your way into the Prime Minister's position by marrying me off. That's why you created that sniper division." And he'd submitted for it almost six months ago, so it had been a long time coming. "I had no idea things were that desperate."

"Well, you're impossible to assassinate and every time I have you dead to rights one or more Elrics or alchemy seems to bail you out," Hakuro grumbled, but Roy realized it was good-natured. "There are few people historically who seem to have more control over you, and quite unfortunately one of them isn't here to agree with me." It was much more sober. "My options are limited, and my chances for success high. Don't screw up."

It almost seemed unacceptable, that Hakuro would even remember Hughes, let alone mention him, and maybe it was the alcohol in his stomach or the release of all the stress of waiting on Creta, but for one truly bizarre moment, he really wanted this to be resolved. As if it could be that easy, he and the general could part with a permanent cease-fire of their own.

But the moment passed, and he gusted out a sigh. "Well, to be frank, general, as concerned as I am about the Elrics, I'm really not in any shape to date-"

The general choked on laughter, actually coughing a few times when he was done. "Glad to see you still have your sense of humor. Alphonse did me a favor, I have no intentions of doing anything more than going through the motions. And I doubt Edward will risk losing his limbs again, not . . . in his current condition." All the mirth was gone. "They're your responsibility, but as you said, they're heroes."

It was too good to be true, but for the moment, it had been nice to pretend. "I'm supposed to believe that a half-hour of torture has changed your perspective that much?"

Hakuro was watching him, now, completely serious. "I had a fifteen year old son. And I may live long enough to have a fifteen year old grandson. All you've had is the Elrics and Elysia Hughes. Do you think I or the other men on that panel would have been any more comfortable with putting a child to death than you?"

Unbidden, the girl in Liore came to mind, but Mustang quashed that thought long before it could make it to his tongue. "So that was Al's favor. All Edward did is try to kill you this morning."

The general's more predatory smile was back. "I have something in mind for him, and I have a feeling you won't disagree."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted him discharged."

"I do, but you don't agree, and unfortunately there's nothing I can do about that short of pursuing human transmutation." It seemed to occur to him where the question had been headed. "He would have done anything to restore his brother, Roy. That made him dangerous. While he seems mild in comparison, the same goes for Alphonse. If Edward is fully restored and does not have the equivalent of an alchemy bomb at his fingertips, ready to detonate the next time someone looks at him the wrong way, then he's _your_ loose cannon. Who will be credited with holding back an army and will shortly be the Alchemist of the People all over again. I can't think of a way to make myself less popular."

Roy just blinked up at the shadows, now completely obscuring his ceiling. It all made a frightening amount of sense, or perhaps he had lost his tolerance for bourbon. "Because you think you're going to be running for my job in four years." And now he was going to be hands-off the Elrics, in the hopes they'd blow it and the fallout would be blamed on him.

"And if you screw up, I can always prosecute him later."

Ah. _There_ was the Hakuro he so missed.

- x -

"He gives a damn. Trust me."

Russell Tringum curled an eyebrow. "Seriously, Al, he doesn't. He has absolutely no faith it'll work. And even if he only says three words to her, they'll be 'ain't gonna work'."

"He'd never use an improper contraction," Ed murmured dismissively, toying with the brake on his right wheel. It made a very unpleasant squeaking sound, and the more he manipulated it, the more annunciation he could get out of it. It would probably be maddening to his companions, if they'd stop bickering long enough to listen.

Fletcher, for instance, was just patient standing behind him, leaning against the wall, unbothered by the waiting, the arguing, the griping, or the squeaking. His arms were folded across his chest, though one was still wrapped more to hide the scars on his skin than to prevent infection. Apparently that layer was sloughing off and would reveal a less damaged layer beneath, but until then it looked a little like he was in the last stages of a flesh-eating disease, or someone had boiled his arm for a few hours and then put it back on him. It also smelled a little weird, even at this distance, and Ed slowly cranked the brake down.

"That's true. I forgot," Russ growled sarcastically. "Five words, then. He's not accurately representing the chances of success and if he figures out what she's afraid of, he'll exploit it to the max-"

"He's really not that bad," Al interrupted, still trying for a patient tone. "I mean, he's an ass, but he doesn't want to see her die. He's highly respected. I've asked around/"

Squueeeeeeaak.

"Patterson picked him. Said I'd like him even though his bedside manner is shitty." Ed released the brake, noting that the halls were pretty level; he didn't start rolling anywhere. "He was right. I do like him. And he might not think it's going to work, but what other option is there?"

"I think that's really the question." Fletcher's voice was soft, but they were alone in the hall, and Al and Russ had fallen silent at the mention of Patterson. "Quality of life. If we fail, this is it. If we don't try, next week, next month is it. Go for that guaranteed time and accept the inevitable, or risk losing all of it for a bigger chunk of time? And at her age, what's to say that's going to be that much longer?"

Ed didn't want to think about it that way, but in the end, all they were talking about were chunks of time. Probably something that had been on Fletch's mind a lot in the last week.

"It's not just about that, Fletch-"

"Oh, I know. We could learn a lot." He pushed off the wall, unconsciously picking at the wrappings on the back of his hand. "But when it comes down to it, she's looking at a basket with two apples in it, and risking gambling that basket for a basket with six apples in it. Then there's the added therapy and rehabilitation, and I know, she can guess that better than us-"

"And we can make it less-"

"But keep in mind most healing alchemists don't toe the line like we do."

"Most alchemists don't know where the line is. By the time you find it, you've crossed it, and not many come back from that." Al said it lightly, well aware that anything they were saying might be overheard. "That'll be her main concern. She won't want anyone to get hurt helping her." Oddly, Al glanced at him, and Ed returned the look curiously until they all turned towards the opening door.

It was Ackernath, and he didn't even acknowledge them. The slim folder he'd entered the room with was in his hand, and there was a pen in his coat pocket, so clearly the decision had been made. He angled between them without even a nod, and the four waiting heads swiveled back to see Winry closing the door gently behind her.

Winry didn't make them wait, and didn't ignore them "She said yes."

Ed was unsurprised when all of them smiled, but there was no whooping, no cheering. Ackernath had agreed to assemble a surgical team and go along with the procedure if the patient okayed it, and now that the patient had, all it meant was that Russ and Fletch were booked for tomorrow afternoon, and would spend a sleepless night studying their asses off and checking and rechecking their math.

This was just the first step.

"So he-"

"He explained it fine, obviously," Fletch cut in, almost gently. "C'mon. We need to get excused from tomorrow afternoon's session."

Russell's mouth never closed, but he'd been successfully redirected. "Parliament's long dismissed. Do you have Daugherty's number-"

"Sheska will."

Russell pushed off the wall. "Sheska's got everyone's phone number."

"She's handy like that," Al quipped, giving them a quick grin that communicated far too much. Gratitude. Hope. "I think Sorn's booked all day tomorrow for panel examination anyway, I doubt they'll protest too much." He turned and pulled Winry into his arms, giving her a hug strong enough to crush her into his chest, and Ed stifled his surprise when she didn't exactly return it. "I'll get Ackernath's timetable, to make sure the Tringums are back for a round of discussion before the surgery."

Good thinking. They'd probably have a lot of questions, assuming the doc himself wasn't the lead surgeon. He was a break specialist, but he seemed pretty adamantly certain this was pushing healing alchemy far outside its bounds. And it was.

But Patterson had seen what they'd done for Al. What they'd done for Fuery and Breda, when the hospital's other healing alchemists had managed less. He knew what they were and were not capable of, and knew that they wouldn't accidentally cross that line again.

Not even for him, if he was willing to off himself less than fifty yards from them.

Al let Winry go, and Ed pretended not to notice the way he let his right arm trail down hers to find her hand and give it a squeeze. Her hair was down, partially obscuring her face, but when she turned to face him, it was with a smile, a bit tarnished on the edges but otherwise intact.

"Then I guess I'm stuck pushing this one around."

The words were on his lips. I'm perfectly capable. Instead he gave her a quick smile. "I'm the only one who hasn't done anything, dunno why I'm so wiped." It was the truth. The sedative he'd been given that morning had never really worn off, and he believed Dalyell when she said he'd done a number on himself. He ached in a way the water therapy had never made him. Maybe there was something to it, moving around without having to support your own weight.

And maybe there was a reason she was volunteering for it, and she wasn't returning that hug. Maybe she needed a few minutes to get herself together. They'd just handed her the possible key, the possible miracle that she'd probably never thought was coming, because Pinako was no Elric, because she was a wizard with automail but not with life. Pinako had to have expected something like this, and Winry should have, but they hadn't told her until pretty much now, just in case, and after the promise of full disclosure . . . he wasn't doing so good on that one.

"I'm amazed you were awake when we came out," she teased him, and the Tringums laughed as they waved and headed off for the exit.

"Hey, I'm doing much better-"

"Yeah, you are." She moved behind him, grabbing the handles, and he checked to make sure the brake was still up before she started pushing him.

They walked in silence for a moment, then she chuckled half-heartedly. "You used to hate it when I'd push your chair around."

Before the automail. He'd hated a lot of things back then, mostly himself. Even though he'd been so sure he'd get out of it, one way or another, he hated having to rely on someone. Needing to rely on someone had been the reason, indirectly, that he'd been there in the first place. "I'm sorry that you'll have to push Aunt Pinako's, at least for a while." The Tringums could take a bit out of that rehab time, but bones were bones and they'd need to heal on their own. The pins would offer a hell of a lot of support, but it was inadvisable to have her walking so soon after being laid up so long.

That and the surgery would weaken her, even if it was as successful as they all thought it would be. Ackernath probably explained it well, but they needed to know it wasn't going to be an instant fix, like Alphonse had been.

"She's lighter than you," Winry observed, turning the corner for his wing. "And she'll be on crutches soon enough."

The tone was perfect, light and hopeful, and the words were nothing out of the ordinary, and Ed knew something was terribly wrong. Had she not actually agreed . . .? Had there been some stipulation Pinako had added that Winry knew and wasn't telling them? Or had Winry made the decision for her?

"Weren't you working on some creepy-looking mechanical spider earlier?" He couldn't distract her with his own automail, not anymore.

A snort, finally sounding a little more like her. "It was not a creepy-looking spider. And I was thinking maybe I could, sort of like a bar she could lean on that moved with her . . ." She trailed off, all too soon arriving at Ed's door, and he reached forward with a perfectly flesh arm, grabbing the knob. The wheelchair never stopped; she would have run him into the door if he hadn't moved, but of course she'd expected him to. He held it open for her even once he was past it, needed to stretch the arm out anyway, and it turned him enough to see her face.

She was far too good at crying with everything but her voice.

He was out of the chair before he even realized it, and she was staring at him in surprise, too close to the door, too likely to escape. It crossed his mind that she was Winry, not him, and therefore not afraid of letting people see her cry, but he pulled her to him anyway, lest she flee at the last second.

Just like with Al, she didn't put her arms around him. "Ed . . ."

It was much more awkward this time than the last, even though that had been a far more intimate gesture, because now he was hugging her pretty much in the closed doorway of his room and they'd both have to stand there unless he dragged her to the bed again, so he pushed her away to arm's length, so he could see her face. "You okay? With all this?"

There were only a few tears, shining on her cheeks, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, and she didn't struggle, either to pull closer or move away. She just stood there. "Yeah. I'm okay." That smile that looked painful even when he'd been a boy, when she'd sent him away cheerfully and been afraid he'd never come back.

"Those don't look like happy tears to me."

The smile faltered. "Go to bed, Ed. I'll be fine."

"I think we can both see you're not fine."

She turned her head away with what he was afraid was not a laugh. "Please don't. It's okay, really-"

He caught her wrist as she did try for the door, stopping her too easily. Instead of saying anything else, he pulled her mostly unresisting to the chair beside his bed, and he sat on the mattress across from her. Something about that gesture seemed to be far more powerful than touching her - she bowed her head, her hands fisting into the fabric of her skirt, and this time he heard the tears in her voice.

"I'm not gonna make it, Ed, I'm not, I just can't . . ."

Hopeless Winry he was familiar with. Hopeless Winry he could help. "It's a risk, but they wouldn't try it unless-"

"I . . . she's all I have left." Her head slipped lower, her blonde bangs hiding everything. "She's getting smaller and smaller in that bed, and there's nothing I can do."

He knew exactly what she meant, and unfortunately there wasn't much to say that could comfort her. He wanted to tell her it would be fine, but he couldn't. He wasn't the one that would be performing the alchemy, and neither was Al. This was out of their league, at least currently. Al was talented at it, and he should have been, as much human transmutation as they'd done, but he couldn't get the experience this would need in time. There was a reason most alchemists specialized in something and he was putting her life willingly in the Tringums' hands.

And that he _could_ say. "I trust them."

"I-I know. I don't know why I'm crying, it's stupid, nothing's happened yet-"

He reached forward, giving her a long time to react before he picked up one of her curled hands. He had to lean out of the bed a little far to do it, but she looked so terribly lonely. "A lot's happened, Win. Everyone's got a breaking point."

Another laugh that might not have been. "Funny, coming from you." She twisted her wrist slightly, as if wanting it free, but he didn't release it, and after a moment her head came back up, expression a cross between exhausted and confused. "What are you doing?"

"What you were doing when I was sleeping. Reminding you you're not alone."

The hand finally uncurled, and she seemed content enough to let him hold it. "You hate physical contact."

That wasn't exactly true. "Depends on the person."

A tiny smile, but genuine. "I guess Al is always the exception, huh."

Again, the right tone, the right words, yet it was wrong. "Family's the exception."

"I'm not family." An odd little twinge that might have been bitter. "I guess maybe that distant cousin you only see when you need something."

He felt like he was treading on incredibly thin ice, and he didn't even know where he was headed. Of course she was upset that he'd decided to get rid of the armor, but he hadn't really had a choice. His arm and leg had been as good as discovered, the armor was only ever a temporary solution. "It's not like that, Winry . . ."

"Annoying sister, then? I was around a lot when you were little-"

Completely uncertain, he leaned closer to her, and when she didn't recoil, he kissed her. It was light and chaste, not deep enough to taste, and he watched her eyes widen slightly, watched another tear take the opportunity to escape.

"Oh," she said, and though he was having to stand on his right foot to keep his balance, he stayed right where he was, close enough to do it again if he needed to.

"I'm the girl next door?"

Trust her to be the one to talk too much. "Yep."

She watched him a moment, then dropped her eyes, and it was hard to tell if she was pleased or unhappy at the gesture. "I told you we had to have a proper friendship."

"We do."

"You call this last year a proper friendship?" There was some amusement in her voice, and that gave him a little hope.

They'd corresponded regularly. He'd told her more than just about everyone but Al. True, he hadn't gone to see her just to see her, because you didn't just 'see' her if you were wearing her automail, armor or not. And that wasn't exactly his fault. "Do I do anything properly?"

A laugh, finally, one he was certain of. "You have a point."

His right leg was starting to tremble from the strain so he leaned back again, still holding her hand, and she turned it over in hers, brought over her other one to run her fingers over the back of his hand, exploring it.

"You know, I was toying with designing a system that would move heat through the surface, both to cool the mechanism and make it feel . . . like this." She inspected his blunt fingernails, running a thumb over them one at a time. "Or at least closer."

"Automail's not supposed to be like flesh. It's supposed to be better, remember?"

Another smile, another tear. "It is better."

"It wasn't bad."

He expected a thwack, was shooting for one, but she didn't stop her examination of his right hand. "I'm sorry I can't protect you anymore. Not even this."

He stilled her hands with his other, so that they were trapped one on top of the other. "I don't think I'm going to be doing anything like that for a long time." Not if his still-trembling leg was any indication. "Maybe I'll take it easy for a while like the rest of you, see what it's like."

A loud, unladylike snort. "Was that an insult, Edward Elric?"

"Maybe."

"That's a good example of doing something improperly."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I know, I know. I don't usually go for shipping. And I don't want to get bricked, but if I didn't resolve some of this stuff I'd just be opening myself up to yet another sequel. And for some odd reason a perfectly good plot-driven scene just wandered off into . . . well, that. And took up all the chapter space so I had to bump something else to next chapter . . . imagine that. ; )

As always, posted without a beta. If you see anything, let me know! And didn't I tell you I'd make you all fans of Hakuro? ; ) Even JChrys!


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

He wouldn't have noticed them if she wasn't still talking to herself.

At first it was just another voice in the small crowd gathered outside the heavy double doors of the Parliament House. Masking the trials would have been a terrible mistake; though the Parliament House had its own doors to the outside world and was technically supposed to be open to citizen review at all times, these particular trials had, by their nature, been closed to the public. It kept anyone from wandering in from the street, and kept military officers like himself out of the loop, but specially identified and well-behaved reporters and media were allowed to take pictures of everyone going in or out. And since everyone in relation to the assassination trials were being kept in the secret prison beneath the Prime Minister's office, an adjoining building, that meant that the public got daily updates on how the defendants were faring though they never took a step outside.

It also meant there was always a crowd outside the doors, even if relatively small, and Al was just as happy to stand far back and let them mill than be recognized and questioned himself. He'd been reading the papers. West regularly got information from Creta; until the war there had been open trade between Amestris and Creta, and obviously some of the wares peddlers weren't going to let a little thing like war get in the way of free trade. Not that the Amestrian soldiers letting them cross the border to the tune of coins jingling in their pockets were any better.

It meant that papers were moving across the border, and information with it. Information such as eye-witness accounts of the death of the Full Metal Alchemist, whose rampant and unprovoked aggression on an innocent border patrol had instigated the attack on Amestris. When cooler heads had prevailed, Creta had just managed to call off their attack moments from taking West City, not wanting to cause an all-out war with Amestris. Media and propaganda there was all state-controlled; there were 'smoothing' talks ongoing with Amestris, according to Creta, and they were demanding an apology for attacking their border patrol.

Which any Amestrian in West knew was bullshit, but considering there were scattered reports that a corpse had come into West City before the battle, and a blurry picture of someone who might have been blond (and absolutely had been Edward) carried on a stretcher off a train, the morning's paper had included an article on the bottom of the front page, 'Where's the People's Alchemist?'

He wasn't looking forward to fending off reporters trying to confirm or dispel that his brother was dead. All he wanted was to pick up the Tringums and get back to the hospital quickly and quietly, so they could confer with the surgeons, look at the latest test results, and start treating Pinako.

But that soft voice was unmistakable, even under the din.

"-just a boy, this is a madhouse, not a law building-"

He craned his neck, using his height to look over reporters as tall as he was for a silvering head. She'd been seated when he'd last seen her, but of course he recalled even then how short she'd been compared to the donut counter. She wasn't much taller than Ed had been, back when he'd been one of her customers, and her husband, while a bit taller, was such a wisp of a man he could disappear if he turned sideways.

It was his wiry frame Al spotted first, and could only assume what he'd thought was a shadow by his side was actually his wife. The reporters were basically ignoring them, so Alphonse left the relative safety of anonymity and approached them nonchalantly, to attract as little attention as possible.

"Mr. and Mrs. Price?"

Dolph turned; Madelyne either hadn't heard him or was used to her husband fielding such questions. The man's ever-impassive face was still as dull and unfriendly as it had been when he'd knocked on the man's door, what seemed a lifetime ago, but then the eyes focused on him more fully.

"Alphonse Elric," he stated. "Honey glazed." And then a thick, knotted hand was held out to him.

He was stunned, but remembered himself and returned the gesture. It was a baker's hand, crushingly strong, and it occurred to Al to be grateful the man wasn't left-handed; he no longer had the sling to remind people of his not-quite healed shoulder. Luckily, Dolph was arthritic himself, and it was a clasp more than the full-body shaking that had been Avram Blane's greeting of choice.

"How did you get in here?" He said it in a lower voice, not wanting to leave Madelyne out of the conversation but afraid to speak up. She seemed oblivious; her silvering hair was hidden in a dark navy headscarf, and she seemed to have her arms wrapped around her chest. Her mutterings continued and she watched the double-doors as if molten lava would pour out if they were opened.

"Patrick Dranyeld's boy was at the door," Dolph answered inflectionlessly. "Blueberry and sour cream. Tried to pinch a dozen mebbe nine years ago with counterfeit coin. Maddie caught him, though. Her eyes are still sharp enough."

There was none of the expected anger in the man's voice and face, and Alphonse hesitated before he spoke again. "Franklin's . . . he's having a hard time right now." He dropped his voice even lower, just to ensure Madelyne wouldn't hear. "You may not want your wife to see him right now."

"It's not about what we want," the old baker answered, and he put a hand on his wife's shoulder. She left off her single-minded staring at the double-doors to turn, and Al's stomach sank when he saw she was carrying the quilt, neatly folded and bundled in her arms.

The one she'd been working on when he'd gone to their house, four miles outside of downtown Central, and told them that helping him would save Franklin.

The papers weren't sure of the whole story; the trial's transcripts would be released to the general public after conclusion of the trials themselves, so speculation on what the young man had done to be a suspect was running rampant in the papers. Some of it was frighteningly accurate, and since he'd told them days ago it might be biological transmutation, they were probably fearing the worst.

If they actually knew what biological transmutation was. As taboo as the subject could be, only those familiar with alchemy knew that.

"He wouldn't have called us kin unless he needed some. So we're here."

Al found himself nodding. They'd probably tried to get in every day since Franklin Sorn had made the papers, and just lucked out that someone from Liore had happened to be on guard duty today-

The double doors swung open, signaling the end of the morning's session, and the usual bedlam began. The suspects were the first out, for the safety of the Prime Minister and all others in attendance, and Al was astonished to see Avram Blane being led out, two guards in the lead and two behind. He wasn't shouting incomprehensibly, which Al had heard he'd done earlier, and seemed rather sullen. He didn't give them - or the reporters - a second look, too caught up with some inner turmoil. Madelyne took a step forward, but Dolph caught her elbow before Al could.

"He'll get his, Maddie. You'll see."

"He better!" She didn't keep her voice down, and a few of the reporters in the back turned to give the old couple an inquisitive look. They were far too old to be with the media, they might suspect they were someone's parents, and if they asked-

But then they turned around at an excited murmur from their colleagues, and in much the same fashion, Franklin Sorn was paraded into the lobby.

Like Blane, his hands were bound behind him and in wood, unable to touch each other or anything else. His arms were held by his leading guards, and the two behind were to ensure there was nothing left to chance. He looked tiny between his guards, clean and tidy but in prison blues and with his eyes firmly glued to the floor. Madelyne started forward again, this time with her husband at her side, and Al hesitated. They weren't supposed to be there, and he could understand that they wanted to support Sorn but those guards wouldn't-

Right behind Sorn came the Prime Minister's head of security, to ensure he had a clear path to his building, and Al raised his arm high, waving for her attention. The moment he had her eyes he indicated the old couple, almost lost in the dozen reporters, and the slight smile she'd been trying for faded into watchfulness.

The old couple had chosen the path of least resistance, planting themselves firmly in the way so the guards had no choice but to move past them, and this was not unnoticed by the journalists. Cameras started flashing more emphatically, and the lead guards slowed. Before they could say anything, however, Colonel Hawkeye had caught the rear guard and they brought the procession to a halt. He saw her hand come out, waving him in, and Al shouldered past the reporters. They were mostly silent, thrilled with this chance for exclusive coverage, and he came to stand with his left shoulder touching her right, turning his face almost into the side of her head to hide his lips.

"Madelyne and Dolph Price, his guardians."

Guardians that were not legally part of the process only because Sorn was being tried as an adult. And Al could guess that Hakuro had purposefully not dropped that requirement when he'd dropped the treason charges, to put more pressure on Franklin to break. Unless the boy cracked on the stand, Patterson's confessions would hold.

Only he already looked cracked, into pieces that might never fit back together again. He was unrecognizable as the cool, focused teen that attended his lectures and tried invisibly to impress him. He was in no better shape than he'd been when Al had walked him back to his cell following Patterson's suicide.

And almost his own.

When his guards had stopped, Sorn had glanced up, and now he was staring, wide-eyed, at the familiar couple looking back at him. Cameras flashed like lightning, bleaching their skin and making them look even older than they were, but the bulbs couldn't compare to how brightly Madelyne was smiling at him.

Hawkeye waved them forward, and a word from her had the lead guard reluctantly letting go of the boy. Sorn didn't move, just stared at them as Dolph walked up without the slightest sign of self-consciousness. At the last moment Franklin seemed to realize that no one was holding him, and he stepped directly into Dolph's chest. The baker's worn hand came up to wrap around the back of his neck, the other resting on the middle of his back as Franklin hid his face in the man's shirt.

Al watched Hawkeye approach Madelyne, who had realized that Franklin had no hands to accept the quilt with, and he marveled at how well the old woman handled the media attention. Then again, she'd been in crowds all her life, and he smiled a little as he heard Hawkeye raise her voice, repeating something to the half-deaf woman.

The clamor of the press was not helping, and he cleared his throat, turning fully to face them as if to leave.

He'd been a fly on the wall in the back, but now he was someone who had approached the Prime Minister's Chief of Security, and it only took a few seconds before one of the ones in the back, unable to get a good photo of the Prices, recognized him.

A picture of an old couple comforting one of the accused was a great heartwarming piece, but having the brother of the now 'missing' Full Metal Alchemist at their disposal was front page material. He was mobbed in an instant.

"Alphonse Elric! How does it feel to be called hero of Jannai-"

"Alphonse Elric, do you know the whereabouts of your brother-"

"Mr. Elric, can you tell the Amestrian people if your brother is alive-"

He smiled and waved vaguely, leading the press slowly away from both the doors and the Prices. He never turned to see what happened, whether the colonel spirited them away or whether their reunion was cut short by procedure, but it wasn't long before he found himself answering questions, because he couldn't think of a reason not to. The press was not allowed in HQ hospital, but there was no reason to withhold Ed's general condition. Obviously the military had because of the question of his lack of automail, but he could skirt that easily enough and still run interference.

"He's alive and well. I don't know what you've been reading, but the Cretans have it all wrong."

"So he wasn't at the city when it was attacked-"

"What about the rumor of his being executed-"

Al held up a hand. "Please, one at a time."

In that way he kept them engaged until the unmistakable heads of the Tringums swung into his field of vision, behind the reporters. Obviously Parliament had emptied out behind him in the meantime, but at least the papers would state tomorrow that Edward Elric was alive, his condition and whereabouts were classified but he had not been executed, and that an exclusive interview and photography rights had been granted to a newspaper source Al could not reveal, which everyone could be looking forward to shortly.

Which was a lie, and probably meant he'd have to contact someone at a newspaper and talk nii-san into giving a quick interview. In long sleeves. In his bed. In fact, he should probably get the same guy that had gotten that photo of him and Mustang the night Irving had attacked, and tell nii-san it wasn't the same guy . . . that photo had been worth a thousand laughs and it might distract Ed from some of the more serious things he was facing.

And while he didn't regret stepping out and giving Sorn and the Prices the time, he was regretting how much it was slowing down getting the Tringums to Pinako. He caught Russ's eye and tossed the keys over the reporters, which attracted their attention to Fletcher. However, he was able to state that he'd not been called to the stand yet and was feeling much better, thank you, and once Russell had the car idling outside in the circular drive it was easy enough to beat a hasty retreat.

Russell was not amused. "What the hell was that all about, Elric? We just blew ten minutes-"

"Sorn's guardians were there."

There was a brief pause, and Al grabbed the side of the car door as Russ took a quick right turn. "Guardians . . .?"

"The Prices. Owned a donut shop in Liore, brought him to Central when he broke his leg. I went to visit them when you went after Blane." And had mentioned them on the train once they'd handled triage in Jannai, but he wasn't surprised Russ didn't remember. "He bought them a house here in Central when they retired, and she came to give him the quilt she'd been making as a thank you."

Fletcher was in the back seat, chewing on his bottom lip. "Wow. I hate that they had to see him like that, but . . . yeah, I agree. The surgeons can wait."

Russ didn't take his eyes off the road - which was good, as he seemed intent on making up the lost time - but his jaw relaxed a little. "Okay, fine, good excuse."

Al almost didn't want to ask. "How'd he do in there?" Obviously not too well if they were both so quick to capitulate, particularly Russ-

Neither Tringum wanted to say, so Al turned to Fletcher, who was not the one guiding the car, and the man gave him a pained look. "You get the feeling, watching him, that he's just repeating what someone told him to say. I don't know that the panel's going to buy it, even though there's nothing to disprove it. It got so bad Tash actually made a crack, that he wasn't aware the Mechanical Alchemist was such an accurate title."

Al grimaced. If he was found guilty on all the other charges, he could still be put away for quite a while. "He disassociating himself, or what?"

"Maybe." But it sounded doubtful. "Maybe it's because he won't eat, all the weight he's lost . . . I don't recognize that guy, and I had classes with him two weeks ago."

Al turned back around in his seat when Fletch didn't say anything else, and he kept his eyes on the road.

They made excellent time, and when they arrived, Al wasn't sure if he should make a comment that he felt like he'd been driving with Ed, or compliment the man on the fact that he was a good driver indeed - anyone else probably would have made a mistake. The other world had seen many people who wanted increasingly fast cars; that world was always in a hurry. This world moved a bit more sedately, so the top speed of most cars was about seventy miles an hour. The cars were not built to maintain that speed particularly well, so handling was an issue and if the streets had been wet they probably never would have made it.

He'd forgotten that Russ was such a stickler on time. Or maybe it was because they felt they had so little credibility with Ackernath that showing up late to the pre-op review would only make things worse. Al offered to park the car when they arrived, and the Tringums were happy to let him do it, but then there was nothing more to be done but wait.

His brother's room was not under guard by any of his therapists, so he knocked gently, and when he didn't hear anything, he poked his head inside. Rather unfortunately, this time there was no Winry in the bed, just his brother, one arm flung carelessly over his eyes, and an otherwise empty room.

"Come in already."

Al did as he was told, deciding the cot looked particularly inviting, and once he'd stretched out similarly they chewed the silence for a moment before Al decided to start.

Obviously Dalyell had made good on her threat of making him talk after his water therapy sessions.

"Brought the Tringums back. There was a little hitch, though."

Edward didn't move. "Oh?"

"Sorn's guardians snuck in. I pulled the reporters off them but it slowed us down a little bit, so Russ is in a mood."

Not even a toe twitched, but his voice seemed a little more engaged when he spoke. "His guardians?"

"The Prices. They owned that donut shop in Liore."

". . . the one at the north end of the plaza, right?"

Al found himself grinning, and he closed his eyes. "The very one. They remembered your fondness for honey glazed donuts, and said I should drag you over there sometime for a couple dozen."

"That doesn't sound half bad."

"You finally getting your appetite back?"

"Was thinking about it." If it had been five years ago, that statement would have been followed up by a heartfelt growl from his stomach region, but it wasn't, and it didn't. His lack of motion was also seriously starting to worry him.

Al resisted the urge to roll onto his side and actually watch him. "We should take Winry with us. I'm sure Rose's told her about them." He hesitated, then decided to just jump right in. "She's too thin."

" . . . yeah. I noticed."

"You talk to her?"

Ed adjusted his face beneath his arm. "A little." Al used his silence to press for more information, and eventually his brother capitulated. "She just needed a little downtime. The idea wound her up pretty tightly."

As they'd known it would. Or rather, the imagined price of failure would. Much like Pinako had had to decide to risk what she had left for a theoretical more, Winry had to deal with the idea that last night might really have been her last night. They'd given her almost no warning, either, and she'd obviously put two and two together from his revealing that Pinako had been mentioned in Patterson's documents. His name was mud.

Which was why he'd left them the hell alone last night, and made himself scarce cleaning up their place, which hadn't seen them in a week and had made him quite a bit more lonely than he'd anticipated. The threat was over now, but it was so easy to imagine that Ed would never have returned, and he'd have to clean out that room like Russ had almost had to do.

Two for three. It was too much to hope that they might get Pinako back.

"I noticed you weren't here this morning."

Al smiled at the ceiling. "Just wanted to give you two lovebirds some time-"

Edward groaned. "Knock it off."

"I got the feeling she wasn't going to let me repay her favor," he said, a little more soberly. "Wasn't that long ago I was crying on her shoulder, but . . . even hugging her was too much just then. She's been so busy taking care of all of us that she hasn't had a minute to herself in a while. I wanted to give her that."

He heard his brother shift on the bed. "I . . . she'll be okay." Avoiding the first part of his response, in classic Edward Elric style. "I'm a little surprised she's not in here."

"She wanted to watch." Al sighed, imaging the air as water in his lungs, sweeping in crisp and clean and carrying all the muck out when it left. "Wasn't much room left in the operating theater, considering everyone _else_ wanted to observe, but Ackernath let her." Probably required a little more coercion than Patterson, but he could also understand that she couldn't bear to wait only to get that news.

"Were Russ and Fletch okay with that?"

"Dunno if they know. And I doubt they care." They'd own up to their mistakes honestly, and Russ was probably more concerned with what Ackernath thought than being self-conscious in front of Winry. "It's going to go fine."

"I know that." The sound of rubbing.

"That bad, huh?"

A quiet sigh. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"I really don't give a damn," Al replied in the same voice. "I know you, remember? There are some things we don't need to talk about, and some things we do."

And with that declaration, the chewable silence returned. He let it go on for a while, giving his brother time to find a good place to start, but this time silence didn't make him talk.

Fine. It wasn't just Ed's side of things he needed. "Remember right after you got back, and slept through a visit with the Tringums and had the shorted debrief in history with Mustang?"

A long pause. "With you jumping out of your skin every time Hawkeye or Mustang looked at you?"

He'd tried to be good about it. "Yeah. That." Al kicked off his shoes, letting them fall to the floor with clattering thumps. "Hakuro knew I was down in the dungeon learning healing alchemy firsthand, and they got the call that dead you arrived in West City. The general, in his infinite wisdom, sent his doctor down to sedate me, so if I heard the rumor I wouldn't lose it." No sound from the other bed, and Al smiled humorlessly at the memory.

"Russ pulled out the sedatives, and I marched upstairs, heard the rumor, and lost it. Said some pretty horrible stuff. Then I went to wait, because there wasn't anything else to do. Ended up in Pinako's room after I checked in here for the shoulder, and woke up leaning on Win." He scratched the ball of his right foot idly with his left. "Remind me to be reported dead, just so you can appreciate how that felt."

The bed was silent a long time. "Almost happened," his brother finally replied, in a low voice. "Back in Germany. They pulled your medical records to confirm you didn't have automail, and since we lived together obviously you were colluding with me to keep it hidden." Ed hesitated. "Promise me you aren't going to use this to feel guilty with."

So they'd threatened to kill him and Ed had bought his safety -

With the automail. Traded Klein something, information, instruction, cooperation-

Dammit. "We were always ready for them to catch on. I'd noticed you were missing by then, you know."

"I know." It was thick. "But . . . it was my idea, joining the military, even though you didn't want us to. Couldn't stand the idea of history repeating itself."

Al digested that. "It's not the same. You walked right into it this time, Ed. You just walked right in and couldn't get back out. Has it sunk in, just how lucky you were? I mean, honestly?"

A deep breath. "Probably not yet." More rubbing. "If it wasn't for that bastard Luis, I'd have gotten myself out of there. Damn that kid, I don't know what the hell he was waiting for, if he could transmute by touching hand to foot."

"He wasn't trussed up like you?"

Motion on the bed - rubbing his bandaged wrists. "Nope. At least, not the whole time. And he wasn't scared. Wasn't anything like you're describing now." He trailed into more sober silence for a while. "Assuming I don't end up in prison on human transmutation charges, I wonder if it's worth petitioning the bastard to keep him certified."

Al felt an eyebrow curl. "Sorn?"

"I . . . was thinking about that this morning." Then he snorted.

Which meant Dalyell had dragged him down that road, kicking and screaming.

"I was thinking he was like us. A little walking talking us. He's brilliant. He lost his parents when he was young, and he wanted them back. He studied alchemy, found a way, joined the military to get his information, and he tried it. And he was manipulated indirectly by Dante the whole way."

Al turned that over in his brain. "But he's not us," he contradicted. "We kept at it because everyone told us we couldn't. He kept at it because Blane told him he _could_. It was far too big for him."

"We committed forbidden transmutation and broke the laws of science. I'd say that's pretty damn big."

Technically they could blame the Gate for the latter. "We. I think that's the difference."

The mattress creaked. "You think if he had a sibling Blane wouldn't just have twisted them too?"

Al found himself smiling fondly at the ceiling. "No, I think you're right about that." Or killed them outright. "Lucky us, we weren't all alone in the world. Everyone told us we couldn't, but everyone helped. Sensei, Sig, Mustang and the guys and Hawkeye and Sheska, Winry and Aunt Pinako, the Tringums . . . even father," he added softly. "We always had someone rooting for us. He didn't have a chance."

"You feeling sorry for him?" There was odd husky lilt to his voice.

" . . . it's," and he looked for the right words, "It's too easy to imagine that you could have been him. If things had worked out differently."

The bed laughed. "Is it bad I was thinking the same thing, except about you?" More motion, apparently Ed was grabbing a blanket. "I'm torn between wanting to rip his head off and . . . I guess there's no and. Even if he knows I lived, and I don't end up staring at a concrete wall the rest of my life, there's nothing I could do that would make him feel any better."

"You don't know that-"

"I do." It was quiet. "Because there'd be nothing in the world that would make me feel better if I was in his place. If . . . if we hadn't found a way to get you back. If the armor had rejected you and I was left . . ." He seemed to think that was a good place to stop.

But letting the kid quit now, when he had so much promise . . . when he could transmute by touching hand to foot, when- "I don't know if I told you. He can also transmute by completing a circle with another alchemist."

". . . what?" Ed's head came off the pillows and Al turned to meet his gaze.

"Yep. Felt weird as hell."

If possible, his brother's eyes widened, then narrowed considerably. "What do you mean, _felt_ weird as hell?"

He gave Ed a bright grin. "I pinned him to a wall, and had his arms behind him, and he used me to complete an array. Tried to escape by going face-first through the concrete."

"Al-"

"Still here," Al reminded him, waving an arm at him. "It wasn't human transmutation. It was using another system to complete the circle." And it sort of made sense that someone so familiar with the intricacies of mechanical systems would be able to instinctively use other systems to his advantage, but that still made him the most advanced with alchemy that didn't require an array.

"I wonder if Dante could do that," Ed mused aloud, dropping back down to the pillows when he realized he had no room to bitch about the risk Al had taken. "Transmute hand to foot, or through another alchemist. Or a homunculus-"

"Stop right there." Al shook his head. "Let's not go down that road. You've got enough fresh meat on your plate without bringing up everything else."

This time Ed put the arm behind his head, instead of over his eyes. Which didn't really look all that puffy, so apparently just the threat of tears was enough. Or he was getting better at hiding it. "Oh, sure, we can talk about anything _you_ want, but if we hit a topic you don't like it's-"

"I-" And then Al stopped. "I'm just saying, a lot happened. In your shoes, I'd have been . . . pretty sure it was over." He quelled the desire to fidget. "And I've sort of been there, so I know there's never any time for any real thoughts or regrets . . . but I've never . . . had to watch it coming unless it was my own doing." Then he groaned. "And that came out all wrong. Dammit, nii-san, are you okay? Really?"

The bed was quite still, but not for long. "It . . . I think it would have been different if Havoc wasn't there." He, too, seemed at a loss for words. "When I saw him, I remember thinking that he was going to try something, and if he'd come all the way there to get me out then I needed to be ready and not fuck it up. But . . . I'd take that over . . . other things." It ended lamely, and Al swiped the pillow out from under his head and hurled it at the bed.

"You wanna tell me what you were gonna say before you gave me the watered down version?"

"No. You just used up your only ammunition."

"You're getting a shoe next," he warned, and instead of whining, Ed just looked at him. A few unreadable expressions crossed his face, then something that Al was almost certain was embarrassment. And suddenly the covering of the face made sense.

He wasn't covering his eyes because he'd been crying. He was covering them because he was ashamed.

"I'd . . . I'd rather be shot than have not woken up." His eyes slithered away to the wall. "From that fucker Luis," he added, a little savagely. "Talk about someone who takes more pleasure in their job than they should. He was like a short, sadistic Falman."

Al knew it wasn't helping, but he couldn't force himself to lie back down. "Is that the name of the guy that electrocuted you?" It was so hard to say it was almost ridiculous.

Ed nodded tightly, still not looking at him. "It was too easy this time, Al. And . . ." He turned away completely, flopping flat onto the bed so that no part of his face was visible from Al's position. "I could have stayed there." It was nearly a whisper. "I don't know how they woke me up, Al. What if I don't wake up?"

"It's not going to happen again," he heard himself say, firmly. "You don't need automail anymore and you're not - I'm not letting it happen again." He sat up, folding his legs under himself, and stared at his brother's chin. "It's not going to happen again." He could understand how terrifying that prospect could be, that one day he'd get hurt so badly that his body would heal but the rest of him wouldn't. Truly trapped, without being dead.

It was too close to his own fears.

But Ed was unlikely to be subjected to automail-like pain again, unless it was in cases like this, very specifically inflicted. It wouldn't happen again. He could promise that.

Al watched his brother's adam's apple bob. "Well, that make things simple, doesn't it." Ed cleared his throat. "I'm okay, Al. Really." When he didn't get a response he dropped his chin, peering over his covered feet, and frowned at him. "Dammit, why doesn't anyone believe me when I say that? I'll live. I'm fine. The world is not ending, and it'll be okay. How many damn times do I need to repeat myself here?"

The sarcasm, the words, they were everything he expected, they were Edward's masks and they were whole and in place. He wasn't in pieces. He'd screwed up, but he hadn't failed. Most of all, his eyes still held shame, but also anger, affection, exasperation-

Ed.

"As many times as it takes, Herr Tringham."

Edward's mouth fell slightly open, then snapped shut again, and he snagged a pillow - the one he'd thrown at him - and slammed his head down on it. Not fast enough to hide his smile, though. "That's not fucking funny, Al."

"I thought it was hilarious."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: (stares up at chapter) So, yeah, that was the 'scene' I left out of the last chapter. It was supposed to be filler during Pinako's surgery. Frank's finally got a friend, and Ed and Al had a random heart to heart. Well, that and I had to set up one more thing, but I doubt at this point it'll surprise anyone . . .

As always, posted without a beta! You guys have been dolls about finding my typos - thank you all so much! And I'm sure that JChrys is secretly fond of Hakuro now. Really. Even though she denies it. Since this scene ran so long it bumped Mustang and Hawkeye - so you can be sure that will be resolved one way or another by next chapter. (Well, okay, no, it won't be resolved for _years_, but for the purposes of this fic, it will be addressed next chapter.)


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

"Deliberations are over, sir."

He glanced at the clock on his desk rather than his pocketwatch; it was easier and didn't require him to drop the pen. It wouldn't do to get ink drops on the internal copy of Avram Blane's execution order, even if it would never be seen by any but his top general and the Speaker. Once the verdict was in - and there was no doubt what it would be, at least in this case - they'd have a ceremonial signing by the entire panel, and it would be that copy that would be kept as the official historical document.

Even so, this one had great significance, and he wasn't going to smudge it. It was his first death order, after all. Or at least the first one that had actually required his signature.

Only half past three. Parliament had been deliberating a little over an hour.

The panel had already completed their discussions, but Parliament's vote was to count as one additional panel member, with the same voting power as the Speaker, the generals, or the Prime Minister. Even if they had voted in favor of Blane, they would have been overruled. His involvement - and guilt - was indisputable.

And so was Franklin Sorn's.

"Thank you, colonel."

She stayed in front of the desk, patiently waiting for him to cap the pen and give the ink a few seconds to sink into the paper. It didn't take long to soak in, gradually losing its luster, and Roy Mustang leaned back, actually looking at her for the first time since she'd entered the room.

Cool, crisp, business-like. As she always did. "I assume everything else is in order?"

She gave him a nod. "All logistics have been taken care of, sir. Brooks and Goodman remain assigned to you exclusively, and have a four-man team permanently serving at their discretion."

Quick deliberation - and quick sentences - meant the trials would be wrapping up even sooner than expected. And once Blane's body was roasting in an incinerator there was no reason to retain his private security staff.

"I assume the general was receptive to stepping up his time-table?"

A glint that wasn't amusement. That was what was missing from her now. Or maybe it really had been since Irving's letter. So much had happened he honestly didn't remember, and he found himself wearing a small, bitter smile quite without meaning to.

"Yessir." Whatever she thought of the expression, she didn't let it show. Her blonde hair had been cut, she must have done it last night - not short, but perhaps only shoulder-length. Back to the longest a sniper could wear it while still easily cramming it into a helmet.

She needed to be a good example. She would be setting the standards.

"Your official transfer will occur Thursday after five pm." He picked up the notice, waving it lazily back and forth a few times to speed the drying process. "I assume the rest of your team is aware?"

"Yessir."

Since he'd already let it slip, he let his smile expand, just a little. "Watch Breda. I don't think he can put it away like usual."

"Sir?"

"You are planning on going out with them Thursday night, aren't you?" He ran a white-gloved thumb over the words, and the digit came back clean.

"If by 'going out' you mean accompanying them while they move all the pertinent files and organize the new offices, then yes sir. Friday is not a holiday."

He looked back up at her, grinning broadly at the tone. God, how many times had she used that voice with him. "I could declare it one if you wanted."

Her eyes were a very dark brown, and they narrowed slightly as she considered falling back into their usual banter. As if nothing had happened. "I would prefer to get the office settled before Monday's official opening, Minister."

Roy let the smile slowly fade, seeing nothing else in her eyes. No disapproval. No anger. Not even resignation; there was nothing there at all. He might as well have been an enlisted for all it mattered to her. "Let them go early on Friday night."

Her right eyebrow twitched. "And why should I do that, sir?"

"So you can honor me with your presence at dinner. It would be tacky if you went to celebrate while the rest of them were slaving away."

"As tacky as asking me to said dinner?"

Roy fought the urge to laugh outright. He was _definitely_ still on her list, then. "I don't know what you mean, colonel," he responded mildly, and waited for the expected quip regarding celebration.

Absolutely nothing changed, not her eyes, not her position of parade rest. "I'm not your type, sir."

He sighed silently, fighting the urge to stand. Somehow having the desk between them wasn't the way he'd imagined this conversation going, or how he wanted it to go, but like so many other things, moving now would just be misconstrued. "You think so?"

"It's rather hard to miss, sir. Even the leaders of foreign countries have noticed."

Tolya and his troupe of brunettes. That was true. "Ah, you mean you're not the type of woman I usually like to date."

Finally, the slightest bit of confusion in those cold, gun-leather eyes. "I wouldn't want my promotion to interfere with your normal social activities, Minister."

Truth be known, he'd spent the majority of his nights dining with Parliament, with dignitaries from other countries, with business heads and the press and a multitude of other very important people that didn't immediately spring to mind. The point was that she knew that.

This was quite flatly a rejection.

"I've actually blocked the time in the hopes you'd say yes. Of course, as of Thursday evening you are no longer under my command," save the very vague link he had to the military through Parliament, if they granted it, "so please feel no obligation. If you had made other arrangements, we'll simply schedule it for another time."

Hawkeye blinked at him. "Sir, if you're hoping a little charm will cause me to overlook the fact that you repeated the same mistake you made with Kain and Heymans-"

"When was the last time you responded to my charm?" There was no purpose in letting her reiterate her original point. "To be honest, I don't believe it's happened once."

"Hardly, sir." Her chin came up slightly. "I allowed you to weasel your way out of all manner of paperwork."

"I didn't think that was because of my charm." More than likely, it had been because of certain deadlines that had absolutely, positively needed to be met. "Riza-"

The slightest frown crossed her lips. "Don't." It was quiet and quite different from her normal warning, even when she was serious enough to pull a firearm. "You made your decision, and I've made mine."

"I made a decision to remove you from my chain of command-"

A very unladylike snort. "You made a decision to protect all of us from ourselves! As if we were children, incapable of discerning obligation from loyalty!" She lowered her voice with the same effortless chill. "I don't need to be 'followed up with' like some dithering official."

"That's not what I mean to do," he said carefully, then gave in to the urge and took his feet, pacing around the desk. She didn't give ground but she seemed quite a bit unhappier about the sudden drop in formality, and he faced her squarely . . . which probably was just as formal. His hand found its way into his hair by itself, and he sighed.

Talk about screwing up.

"Riza, you -" He stopped. That would sound too accusing. "When I was suspended after Bradley's death, doing physical rehabilitation . . . what you did for me, that was more than loyalty or obligation." Oddly, the comment made her eyes steel, so he hurried on. "Only I wasn't . . . I didn't have anything worthwhile to give you in return."

No softening, only disappointment. "You still think that? After all this time?"

"It was true, at the time." He pried the hand off his head and put it firmly in his pocket. "I was a wreck. I was and still am a coward. Always have been." Somehow he couldn't dredge up a smile, not even a bitter one. "It was better that way. Can you honestly say you would have been happy if I had been discharged?" It was assuming a lot, and he carefully moderated his voice to ensure it wasn't anything but an honest question. Neither of them would have dared jeopardize it all by toeing the fraternization rule or the code of conduct, but pointing that out, going that route, was probably a bad idea too.

Hawkeye finally dropped parade rest to cross her arms. "Are we really having this conversation?"

"I'd like to."

For a long moment she was silent, studying him intently. "Do you think you deserve it?" _Particularly after last week_ was the unspoken fragment.

The answer was no, but she'd use that as proof that he wasn't any better than he'd been seven years ago. "I think not entertaining the idea would be a mistake."

Obviously not the right answer. "You've been in this office too long."

Point. "Riza, I'd like to start seeing you."

Her eyes were unwillingly softened by a smile, the same half-amused, half-incredulous one she sometimes wore when Breda or Havoc would put their foot into their mouth spectacularly. "You haven't seen me for years, Roy Mustang. What makes you think there's anything left of interest to me?"

Roy smirked in spite of himself. She just wasn't going to let him get away with skirting this issue. And honestly, he really wasn't sure, wasn't sure it could work at this point, wasn't sure it should - "I still haven't signed that uniform change into effect."

One perfectly arched eyebrow. "I see. Blackmail. You should have tried charm." She leaned around him, brushing his right arm as she plucked up the execution notice, long dried and forgotten on the desk beside him, and without another word proceeded across the thick carpeting towards the door. He didn't stop her, staring through the spot she'd been moments ago as if still in thought, but his mind was fairly blank. It wasn't going to be easy; he'd expected that, she was still hurt and angry and he'd expected that too. He didn't deserve it, and hadn't earned it, and it was only fair that she'd be the one stringing him along now-

The door was pulled open crisply. "Seven o'clock. The gown will be ivory, I think." With a click, it closed behind her.

- x -

The Speaker didn't even need to gesture for order, he merely looked directly at the general. Hakuro responded immediately, taking the podium, and much like before, his papers were in order and his manner was efficient and brisk.

The session was going to be short and unpleasant, and dragging it out was a waste of resources.

"Speaker, Prime Minister, House, honored judges." He inclined his head to each group as he greeted them. "The decision of all voting parties has been tallied and the verdicts found. Major General Lee Tash will share them now."

On the balcony above them, there was a brief flash. The press was still being forced to remain outside, though obviously the verdicts and sentences would be released as soon as session was closed. However, they all felt it was prudent that a staff photographer be included for historical purposes, and also to make the Amestrian people feel as if they had not been excluded, and that all proper procedure had been followed according to law. While the transcripts would reflect it, pictures were far more accessible to the average citizen, and in one case, these would be the last photographs ever taken.

The major general wasted no time in trading places with the general. "Avram Blane, stand and be judged."

Because of the presence of the photographer, they were unable to gag Blane, and it was a damn shame. He immediately began screaming his innocence and the witchhunt that was the trial, and only the microphone allowed Tash to be easily heard over him.

"On the charge of high treason, Avram Blane is found guilty. On the charge of misprision of treason, Avram Blane is found guilty. On the charge of sedition, Avram Blane is found guilty." He made no pause, no attempt to soften the news. Espionage, kidnapping, assault, aggravated sexual assault, bioterrorism, four counts of attempted murder, and intent to commit murder, all ended with the same word. If it hadn't been necessary to cover up the original transmutation of the tiny Philosopher's Stone that Sorn had used to bring Fletcher back, they could have gotten him for that too, but it was essentially moot. High treason trumped all the other charges.

"By State law, those guilty of the crime of high treason are sentenced to death by firing squad. By State law, those guilty of the crimes of misprision of treason, sedition, espionage, and bioterrorism are sentenced to death by firing squad. Due to the number of such grave and heinous crimes against the State and her citizens, the appeal process has been denied. The sentence shall be carried out without delay."

No surprise, though Blane's shouts had become nearly incomprehensible. It sounded as if he was attempting to issue a threat, and Tash's complete disinterest seemed to be egging him on. "Per State law, any execution of persons guilty of high treason must be attended by the Prime Minister, the Speaker of the House, the General of the State Military, and five witnesses to be drawn at random from Parliament. Additionally, a transcriptionist and State photographer shall be required to document the event, and those documents must be kept permanently by the Office of Records."

He gave the general a significant look, and Hakuro held up the execution order, quite a bit larger and more ornamented than the working copy. He signed it quickly, passing it across the panel for signatures as Tash continued.

"The body shall be burned and the ashes buried in an unmarked grave, and all record of its whereabouts shall be purged by the Office of Records. Lieutenant Maves, escort the prisoner to the holding area while the parade grounds are prepared."

It took four men to force Blane from the accused box across the floor, dragging him as he literally refused to walk, and while they hurried him out, it wasn't fast enough. He had been well-secured and would be shot that way; though some might call it cowardly, she was not going to allow him even the slightest chance to take anyone with him when he went.

In fact, she didn't want him out of her sight, but the verdicts were only half over.

Once Blane had been forced out the door, the opposite end opened, revealing the next set of soldiers with their equally bound charge, and Tash recognized him. "Franklin Sorn, stand and be judged."

This was an almost silent affair. As he had entered the chambers for days, he walked woodenly and with restricted stride to the accused box, which was merely a square with railings on three sides, and he looked at the major general with no expression at all. The weight he was losing was becoming strikingly apparent, and she wondered if some of that dazed look he permanently had about him was because he was barely getting enough calories intravenously to keep him functioning.

"On the charge of assault, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of assault on a superior officer, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty. On the charge of attempted murder, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty. On the charge of desertion, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of failure to carry out a direct order, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of forgery, Franklin Sorn is found guilty. On the charge of attempted human transmutation, Franklin Sorn is found not guilty."

It was the desertion charge that was going to get him into trouble. If done during wartime, the consequences were the same as treason. Luckily, he had failed to report in before the Cretians attacked, so at worst he was looking at jail time. Quite a bit of it.

There was another flash from the balcony, and Sorn did not respond.

"State law mandates punishment for each of these crimes shall be metered by the justice. Franklin Sorn is thereby sentenced to time already served with an additional three year probation period, in which he will report weekly to an officer of his command's choosing. Failure to appear for these weekly meetings will result in a three month incarceration, doubling for every indiscretion. Franklin Sorn is also ordered to pay five hundred thousand cenz in fines to the State military for resources lost. His accounts and estates have been seized for payment of these debts, and any shortfall after the sale of those estates will be prorated and directly retracted from his salaries during his probation."

There was a brief murmuring as the sentence was given. Almost no jail time but that fine would bankrupt the boy, essentially cutting off his research fund and also tying him to the military for three years with almost no profit to speak of. It would certainly keep him out of trouble for the next three years.

"Further internal military punishment shall be determined by protocol and Franklin Sorn's command. The guilty party, being underaged, is hereby released to the custody of his guardians, Dolph and Madelyne Price. His presence is required in the office of the Prime Minister seven days from today at eight o'clock."

Sorn's guards stepped forward, removing his shackles while one of the pages hurriedly left the chambers. The boy, still expressionless, was led to the same doors as Blane, but in the time it had taken to untangle him from the bindings and march before the panel, the page had been successful, and she caught a glimpse of both the Prices before the doors were closed again.

"The third and final accused, the deceased Timothy Patterson, is found guilty on the following counts: high treason, misprision of treason, sedition, espionage, and two counts of attempted murder. Due to the condition of the accused at this time, State law mandates that the body shall be burned and the ashes buried in an unmarked grave, and all record of its whereabouts shall be purged by the Office of Records."

Tash looked up from his records. "This completes the findings and sentencings, Speaker."

"Thank you, Major General." The Speaker looked over the panel, catching every eye, then out at Parliament. "This session is adjourned."

This time there was no need for the formal march of the panel out the door - there were no prisoners to threaten them, though none of Parliament was going to hurry. She gave the general a nod as he passed, and the major general as well, and took her place - possibly for the last time - at his flank as the Prime Minister made his way down the hall toward his wing.

They ascended the stairs before he felt secure enough to speak without being overheard. "When are the Elrics' court martials scheduled?"

"Edward Elric's date of the thirtieth of the month has not changed. Alphonse's has been scheduled for the same day." The thirtieth being in six days. Whether Ed would actually be in any condition to attend his was in question, but he hadn't requested an extension despite Sheska apparently going in person to get his signature for one. "There's been no word from the hospital yet regarding Rockbell's surgery."

Mustang didn't say anything one way or the other, and they passed the empty pedestal where a jade dragon had once been.

"Assign Lieutenant Ross to the Prices, plainclothed."

She made the note, wondering if that was just to protect Franklin against any military backlash, or because Mustang was afraid Fuery hadn't dug out all the Cretian informants yet. Or just to keep an eye on him in case he tried to run.

"Anything else, sir?" All in all he had to be pretty happy with that verdict, when it could have been so much worse. Franklin would get two things he desperately needed from the Prices - nourishment and comfort. Between a little food and the wisdom of age, perhaps he could finally talk to someone like he had spoken to her.

"Remind Alphonse Elric to stay away from him until the court martial."

"Yessir."

She almost expected him to make some crack about the way she'd left him earlier, but he gave her absolutely no indication if he was pleased that she had accepted his overture, didn't mention it at all as they entered his outer offices. Challiel was there to give him his messages, and then Mustang disappeared into his office without a backwards glance.

She was tempted to remind him it was the end of the day and she already knew for a fact that he didn't need to sign anything else, but Challiel shook her head.

"He has a meeting."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the other woman's calendar. It showed nothing. None of them had expected to be out of session so early. "With whom?"

The other woman winced. "I've been ordered not to say."

"I'm a colonel," she reminded the other woman, using the tactic for a second time in almost as many weeks, and Challiel gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's true, but he's my boss."

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Yes, short chapter, because everything that happens after this is six days later and it seemed silly not to move all that to a chapter of its own. So no mistrial, Sorn's pretty much out of the woods and Roy did a pretty good job of being truthful with Riza, so I let him off the hook. I can't promise that everything will be wrapped up next chapter because there's still a little too much to do, but I should say three and no more. Two court martials and the results of Pinako's surgery . . . not a whole lot left, but I think one more good twist most of you probably see coming. ; )

As always, posted without a beta. For those who don't know, I've just posted a prequel drabble (and will post another) under the Perfect After All: Odds Without Ends title. The first one is called Sand and Shade, dealing with Havoc and Mustang's first encounter in Ishbal, and the second that will be posted is also Havoc-centric, explaining why he had those cool special op clothes but never seemed to do anything special-oppy in the anime. ; ) The first has already been referenced in PAA, ages ago, and the second one will be in the next chapter of _this_ fic.

Which pretty much spoils that Havoc and Ed are going to have a conversation that Ed might actually remember next chapter. ; )


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

**Six Days Later**

"It's not like it's going to make a damn bit of difference."

Edward Elric refused to turn around, glowering, but wasn't able to keep it up for long. The bed was directly in front of him, after all, and one didn't glower at Pinako Rockbell and get away with it. "Help me out here," he added, now speaking directly to the occupant on the bed. "Do you really think what I _wear_ will have any effect on this?" He waved his right arm for emphasis.

Pinako gave her pipe a thoughtful pull, then brought up her knees slightly so she could scoot herself into something more of a sitting position. "Doesn't the uniform include gloves? I would think that would help."

"My teaching clothes do too. See?" He threw the word over his shoulder almost childishly, still refusing to turn. "So thanks, but no thanks."

There was a sigh from the figure in the doorway, and a thoughtful pause. "Cavendish, Burly, and Samsun?"

Ed blinked, then glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

But Pinako had made an approving sound. "With cherry and apricot leaf. You know your tobacco, Lieutenant Colonel . . . ?"

There was an abrupt shuffling of fabric as the soldier hastened to get his own dress uniform hat off. "Havoc, ma'am."

"Ah, yes, I remember now." She tapped the bowl of the pipe on the side of the nightstand. "Please forgive the lapse, Jean Havoc, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am." He took a few steps into the room, unceremoniously dumping the previously neatly folded uniform in Edward's lap. "Sorry, chief, it's orders."

"I have no military rank, remember?"

The handles of his wheelchair were taken in a firm grip. "Don't recall the general taking the pocketwatch, though."

Edward stifled a growl as his wheelchair started to back out of the room, and he engaged the brake, just to delay the inevitable. If Mustang had given the order that he wear the fucking uniform, there wasn't much getting around it, but if he delayed long enough, he could say it was either get changed or be late, and he was pretty sure the bastard would prefer he was on time in what he was currently wearing, his teaching outfit. Which was perfectly acceptable and he'd never had to wear the damn thing to a military function before so what was the point now.

Hakuro would nail him for human transmutation one way or the other. He'd see right through the gesture, it would be as meaningless to Hakuro as it was to him.

Damn Irving, making him set the precedent. And that reporter for taking a damn picture.

"Edward, don't be difficult."

He put his hand over the brake as Havoc reached over him to disengage it. "I liked you better on the other meds. You were less like a hag."

Her eyes - clearer than they had been in a week, despite the meds - were stern and uncompromising. "I don't care for the opinions of shrimps."

"Dehydrated -" But unlike Armstrong, who had let them go on for several moments before interrupting, Havoc just used Ed's momentary distraction to release the brake. He huffed a sigh and considered getting out, but then Havoc would probably just put him in a headlock and he wasn't sure he could actually get away from the other man without having to resort to alchemy. "Who told you I was in here, anyway?"

"Your brother," Havoc told him, apparently giving Pinako some kind of farewell gesture, because she inclined her head. Ed pouted and waited until the door was beside him before giving her a sour smile.

"Wish me luck."

"Hmph," came the reply, and the pipe was being replaced as the door closed.

Once in the hallway Ed dropped the act, letting Havoc steer him towards his own room. He was a little surprised to see him, actually - if all Mustang wanted was for him to show up at the farce of a court martial in a uniform, any old sergeant would do. He hadn't seen Havoc since that brief almost-memory of a traincar, and he was pretty sure that was the way Havoc wanted it.

"What'd you do to get stuck with these orders?"

The other man sighed. "Had the most time on my hands." A short pause. "Does her doctor know she's smoking in there?"

"Yep."

" . . .w ho's her doctor?"

Ed grinned despite himself. "A crotchety old man who has the hots for her. I doubt he'd let you get away with the same."

Havoc made a choked sound. "Nevermind." They passed by the nurse's station. "How's she doing?"

"I don't know how much you know . . . Patterson came up with the idea. It was in some papers he left," Ed muttered in a low voice. "Surgery took about four hours, but she's in better condition now than she'd have been two weeks after the traditional kind. You saw her move her legs."

"So it was a success?"

Ed nodded. The x-rays after the surgery indicated that the bone fragments had been bonded exactly as they should have been, and the incisions where the steel had been inserted were tiny, each about half an inch long. Al knew more of the nitty gritty details, having a new and exciting facet of alchemy to consider, but from their conversations he'd gathered that the internal bleeding had been far worse than previous tests had indicated, and it took the Tringums quite a while to design and then perform their treatment around it. She'd received her last pint of transfused blood two days ago, and her counts were now holding stable. She still looked frail and chalky, but some of the steel was returning to her eyes, and he was fairly sure if they'd ever let her up to take a bath that the steel would be back in her bun, too.

Her hair being down still bothered him, for some reason. It added age to her that she wouldn't otherwise have, somehow.

"Yeah. She's gonna be fine." Probably walking in two months latest.

"That's good," the lieutenant colonel said, for lack of anything else, and he was silent for the rest of the trip to Ed's room. Once there, he hopped out of the chair, tossed the hated uniform on the bed, and shrugged out of his jacket.

"There's no way I can get out of this?"

The blond was giving his room a once-over, and leaned on the wall beside the door, casually preventing him from running. "Never was fair that you didn't get stuck in uniform back in the day."

Ed grunted in reply, yanking off his shirt as well. Enough time had gone by that his wrist wounds and burns were nigh invisible, just scars now, and the chemical burns on his legs no more than a tiny bit of peeling skin that one might see after a couple weeks of healing sunburn. Nothing to hide, anymore. No reason to be leery of that flesh arm and leg. "Getting back to Al, where is he?"

"Took off down the hall," came the reply, and Ed glanced over his shoulder curiously at the lieutenant colonel, who was looking anywhere but at him and appeared in dire need of a cigarette. "He didn't seem to want a part of talking you into a uniform."

Ed snorted, kicking off his brown leather boots and swapping his pants. The fabric was rougher, shoddily tailored, pressed in funny places, and just generally felt like it belonged on someone else's body. His left leg was still very sensitive, from both the burns and how accustomed to the armor it had been, and he frowned at the trousers before noticing the length. Even with the less than comfortable uniform boots, it was exactly right.

Knowing that he'd grown into an actual standard uniform size was unpleasant. He hadn't been paying very much attention when he'd last had it on; now he had no more viable excuses to ditch the thing. "Yeah, well, I think I let you off pretty easy." Only after it left his mouth did he realize how Havoc would take that.

Dammit. If he couldn't even watch his mouth around Havoc then the court martial was going to be over even sooner than he'd thought.

". . . yeah, I'd say you did."

Ed finished pulling on the uniform jacket, lining it up with that stupid half-skirt half-cape thing, and fished his braid out from beneath the collar. "Even if I don't remember the actual conversation, I'm pretty sure I would have told you it was all right."

He turned to see that Havoc was finally looking at him, now, studying him much like he would have Breda or Hawkeye. Evaluating an equal. Did the uniform really change things that much . . . ?

"You don't remember?"

Ed shook his head, buttoning his wrist cuffs. "No. I think we were on a train, so it must've been coming back. If I didn't say it then I'm sorry, but I don't blame you for anything. You saved my ass." As soon as he had one cuff properly buttoned he held out the hand. "I've been asking for you to come down here all this time to say thanks."

Jean gave him a very odd look indeed, but he leaned off the wall, shaking the outstretched hand firmly. "For a second there I'd've thought you were a grown-up and everything."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Like that'd happen. Way to ruin the moment, though."

Jean returned to his self-imposed sentry duty while Ed worked on the other cuff. "Would you prefer I cried a lot and said I owed you one from before?"

"You owe Al from before. He's the one that fished you out of the fire. And I think if you started crying I'd dangle you out the window and ask you where the real Havoc was."

Jean smiled faintly but didn't say anything, and Ed gave him a curious look before deciding to let it go. Enough with the fucking heart to hearts already.

"Can you do that? Without the automail, I mean?" The lie slipped off his tongue effortlessly. Which meant he was on his toes, at least, if Hakuro decided to drag him into things. Probably why he was wearing his dress uniform. He'd been at the hospital pretty much the first forty-eight hours straight they'd gotten back to this world, it only made sense he might be called as a witness to confirm the arm and leg were absent at that time.

Which would be necessary to prove, since human transmutation might not be illegal wherever the hell he'd come from. In fact, as a blond German in Germany he knew without a doubt he'd have been allowed to get away with murder, so using that murder not only to exterminate Jews, Catholics, gypsies, and the handicapped but to improve the master race would have been seen as something worth promoting him over.

He had a feeling that was a crappy defense, though. Besides, Hakuro had seen the arm port installed with his own eyes. He already knew he had that in the bag.

"Probably not yet, but eventually, yeah. You don't look like you weigh any more'n'Al does."

The older man twitched an eyebrow. "Been dangling him out of a lot of windows lately?"

"He certainly deserves it," Ed muttered, letting his sleeves fall. Also the appropriate length. "Gee, look at that. I won't get an additional court martial for coming to a court martial out of uniform."

"The braid is out of uniform," Jean corrected him, with a hint of sadness and a healthy dash of amusement. Ed stood still as Havoc circled him, inspecting.

"You cut the braid off, we're gonna have issues."

Jean chuckled, then yanked the jacket down hard, almost taking Ed off his feet. It irritated him, much like still having to ride around in the wheelchair irritated him. He was better, but he was still such a weakling compared to what he had been. Training himself up again after so much time laid up - and the fact that he had no more energy now than he'd had a week ago, and less to spare for walking around as if he was fine - was going to be murder. He channeled that irritation into a frown he threw over his shoulder.

Before his head was carefully taken between two hands and straightened. "Do you even know how to salute properly? You never even went to boot camp, did you."

"I know which hand to use. This is a farce, Havoc, it doesn't matter. I'm going to be found guilty of human transmutation - which I did, by the way - and probably get locked away for a long time." Mustang wouldn't allow worse. He was pretty sure.

"You're representing the boss in there, you know," Havoc answered quietly, coming back around to inspect his stripes. As a major, there weren't many, and they were believably straight. "Have a little pride."

Ed let him fuss until he seemed satisfied, and gave him a mock salute. Havoc suddenly grabbed his chest with a hand and staggered back a step. "Whaddaya know. You do know which hand to use." He chuckled as the salute became one-fingered. "Well, Chief, let's get you locked up then."

"Havoc?"

The lieutenant colonel glanced over his shoulder as he pulled open the door.

"Whatever happens in there, if you decide to bail me out, please don't use a gun."

He seemed to think on that a moment as he waited for Ed to take a seat once again in the hated wheelchair, and they took to the halls. Ed nearly forgot about him when he saw a uniform by the nurse's station, waiting for them. It was familiar in a terribly painful way, and he knew his brother had shown him up when he clicked his heels together - perfectly polished boots, too - and gave Havoc a sharp salute.

And received one, just as crisp. "Lieutenant colonel."

"Lieutenant colonel."

Showoffs.

"Stay here, Al." Inviting him was just begging Hakuro to take an interest in going after him as well.

He got one of those smiles that usually meant trouble. "And miss the look on Hakuro's face?"

"The last thing we need is to give that fucker a reason to go after you too. I think one of us in prison is good enough." Only one of them had done anything worth that, even if it had been all those years ago.

Al rubbed the back of his neck as the three made their way towards the elevators. "Yeah, well, about that. I was sorta hoping if we asked nicely we could get on the same cell block."

Ed gave himself a sufficient amount of time to replay the comment in his head, assure himself he'd heard correctly, and infer that this meant Al had done something that might get him sent to prison. Which meant that Hakuro hadn't been bluffing when he'd said that he could dig up a reason to have Al arrested and charged. And Al still expected that Ed was going before the general, so if it wasn't for murdering him, then-

Mustang had pardoned Al for the Thule Invasion. He was absolutely sure of that. Surely Hakuro didn't think he could get them both for human transmutation, though . . . ?

Havoc was wisely silent as the elevator arrived, and Ed was backed in, so he could no longer see his brother's face at all. He heard Al holding his breath, though, when the descent began, and he waited, still silent, as they arrived on the ground floor and Havoc wheeled him out. They didn't stop by the toady receptionist's desk - Dalyell wouldn't accept his discharge yet, it wasn't like this was any more than a quick jaunt to be told he would be getting a week to complete treatment before he was locked far away from any more trips outside.

In fact, he was proud of his restraint as Havoc hesitantly left him parked at the curb to get the car, and he wasn't sure Al had started breathing again until his brother sighed. "You're a little old to start the silent treatment, and you know I'm better at it anyway."

"I didn't want to be overheard." He glanced over his shoulder and up, hating how familiar it was to be staring over his shoulder and up at his brother while waiting on the curb of a hospital for one of Mustang's men to get a car. "What happened?"

Al frowned, looking far too comfortable in that blue uniform. His hair was pinned to the back of his head in a French braid save a few strands that had wiggled free, and his beard was well-trimmed, probably exactly to Amestrian code. He looked far too much like their father, in expression as well.

"I told you that Franklin tried to bring Patterson back, right?"

He gave his brother a short nod.

"Well, after Russ and I stopped him, Hakuro showed up. He ordered me to put Franklin back, so I did. He . . . well, he pissed me off. He knew damn well that he couldn't do it without a Stone and he was going to try it anyway. And die anyway. As soon as he saw the general he retreated back into monosyllabic mode again and once I'd gotten him back into his cell I'd had about enough of it, so I hit him."

Ed waited for him to continue, but Al only frowned more deeply. "Ah. There's something else I neglected to mention. Apparently a couple days prior to doc's suicide Sorn's guards decided to take matters into their own hands. The kid's not too fond of uniforms anymore."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out, and Ed found himself mirroring Al's expression. "So they were already worried about causing a mistrial-"

Al nodded unhappily. "Hakuro didn't seem upset that I'd done it, but the three guys before both got a dishonorable discharge and ten years before possible parole. I expect he'll have to give me the same."

"How hard did you hit him?"

"Hard enough that he noticed." Al's voice had become a bit more dry. "Not hard enough to really hurt him, though. He knew the difference. And it was the excuse used to keep Sorn from being interrogated prior to the trial, but . . ."

Ed gave his brother a crooked grin, hating the way his stomach was responding to this news. "Don't take it so hard. I hit him too. Couple of times."

"Combat's not quite the same, nii-san."

Ed shrugged as one of the black Parliament cars approached the curb. "All the same, I understand the sentiment. Besides, he was borderline suicidal, it could be argued you were trying to snap him out of it-"

His brother nodded. "That's the idea. We'll see how far it gets me."

He sounded so somber, but there was no more time to reassure him before Jean had hopped out of the driver's seat and was pulling open the back door. Ed was allowed to transfer himself into the back seat, and Al helped the lieutenant colonel fold the chair and place it in the trunk before they both climbed back in.

"So when are you scheduled?"

"Right after you."

"You won't be able to attend his court-martial, though," Havoc cautioned him from the front, as the car pulled smoothly away. "You'll be held in a waiting area. That was waived in Ed's case because he hasn't been discharged from the hospital yet."

Small blessings. "What's your role in all this?"

"Get you there in uniform, take you back."

"Then stop the car."

Havoc's eyes shifted to him in the rear view mirror.

"If you don't have to take me back in uniform, then we need to go back and get my actual clothes. I'm not keeping this thing on any longer than I have to."

"Nii-san-"

"Photographers," he said simply. "Hawkeye will be ecstatic enough that I'm in one again, but if there's another fucking photograph of it . . ."

It wasn't that funny, wasn't much of a distraction, and Ed settled back in the seat, uneasy and uncomfortable. "I wish you'd told me earlier," he finally said, in a low voice he hoped wouldn't carry to the front seat.

"You'd have just worried, like you're doing now."

That was true. "You wanna run for it?"

Al gave him a sideways look, judging how much of it was meant in jest and how much was serious. "If nothing else, we deserve it for mom."

There wasn't much use arguing with that. Even if it had been his idea, he and Al had circled that issue enough times. "Think you'll get less time than me?"

"If I do, I'll bring apple pie when I come visit."

"Ass."

By that time their voices had grown in volume enough to carry up to the front, and Jean caught Ed's eyes in the mirror again. "You're straight on what's been communicated to the panel, right? You used an amplifier in battle and the armor was gone by the time the Cretians dug you out."

Ed gave a nod. "We're sure there's no record of the armor getting shipped with me? What about the people who moved it?"

"I believe they were told it was created in order to hide your condition temporarily. Since you were unconscious pretty much the whole time you shouldn't know the details anyway."

So it sounded as if Havoc had the same thoughts in regards to his defense - the 'I don't know' approach. It had worked well in the past, but had been used in the past, and Hakuro would be expecting it. The rest of the panel would determine how well received playing dumb would be.

The drive was short - they were pulling past the guardhouse all too quickly and up to the curved pull-around, and Ed opened his door as soon as the car came to a halt.

Neither of the other passengers seemed surprised, and while Al certainly didn't look happy about it, he made no move to open the trunk and free the hated wheelchair. Weakness be damned, he was not going to be wheeled in to his own court martial. Lieutenant Colonel Havoc pulled away as soon as they were both on the curb, and Ed gave his brother a quick grin.

"So, any idea what room?"

Al shook his head, casting a dark look behind them at the military HQ. "No, but my guess would be they're here to escort us. Please don't do anything stupid."

It wasn't that the request was that odd, but it made Ed grin just the same. "Last chance, life on the lam . . ."

Al snorted, and Ed turned to watch an entire troop of MPs hustle down the stairs to them. He'd half expected to be placed under arrest, since it hadn't really happened since Franklin's house, but instead they were both merely asked to provide proof of identification, and twin watches were produced and verified.

"Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric, please come with me."

Unsurprisingly, once through the doors, Alphonse's six guards split off to the opposite side, and Ed gave his brother a careless wave as he was led toward a series of what he knew to be conference rooms. Obviously one of them was a tad more official, and this point was driven home as he was led to the only pair of double doors in the place, behind which a brewing thunderstorm seemed to be grumbling.

"Awfully loud for a panel of six, wouldn't you say?"

His guard was unimpressed, two of them pulling open the doors and revealing what could only be described as an auditorium. There was indeed a panel of six high-ranking military officers, Hakuro silver and stern in their center, and on both sides of the hall leading towards those officials were rows of seats, elevated behind elegant golden oak risers.

Packed with uniforms.

Havoc had said Al's court martial was right after his. Did he know . . . ?

Ed glanced curiously at the audience as he was led inside, startled to pick out the several of his own students in the crowd. Were all of these witnesses, to be called to contradict or confirm his version of events? Mustang could never have gotten to all of them, there was no way they all knew the story-

And that was probably the point.

At least Al wouldn't get caught in a lie.

Edward was led to stand directly before the panel, and despite himself a little unease crept through his frame. He'd hoped it would be short and to the point, but if there were this many people here to be called, was he going to have to stand here the entire time? More than ever he was glad he'd eschewed the damn wheelchair, but they weren't even going to give him a crappy little table to sit behind?

Well, if it came to it, he could always make one. That probably fell under the 'something stupid' Al had asked him not to do.

"I will have order," the general's voice rang out, effectively silencing everyone. "I call a start to the court martial of the Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric, to answer to charges of desertion during wartime, failure to obey a direct order, contempt, insubordination, assault on a superior officer, and the performance of human transmutation."

Desertion during wartime . . ?

Ed would have closed his eyes if he hadn't been too busy glaring unconcernedly. Liore. Dammit He'd forgotten about that. It had probably been in the paperwork that lieutenant had given him what seemed a lifetime ago in his office in the Academy, but of course he'd disintegrated it before he'd read it. Come to think of it, the guy had probably mentioned it, it was just so low on the list of things he'd done that he hadn't considered that Amestris had constantly been in a state of war when he'd been a kid.

"Major General Lee Tash will lead the questioning."

Tash - the same guy that had been questioning during Sorn's trial. Ed didn't know him, but still gave him the courtesy of eye contact as he was flashed a completely insincere smile.

"Good afternoon, Major Elric. I trust you are feeling better?"

The court was quiet, quiet enough that he realized it wasn't actually just a rhetorical greeting but like every other question, would require an answer. "Much, thank you for asking, Major General. And you?" He made it syrupy-sweet and could not ignore what sounded like choking in the general direction of one of his students.

If it could be any less sincere, Tash's broadening smile was. "I'm well. So your human transmutation was a complete success?"

Ed refused to be put off, dropping any semblance of parade rest and peeling the glove off his right hand. He made a fist, watching his own fingers play in the sunlight slitting through the blinds on the high, wide windows behind the panel. As expected, there was a brief mumble of voices, and Tash seemed genuinely pleased he'd done it.

As if he had any other choice. "Certainly seems that way. Hasn't fallen off yet, at any rate."

"Are you expecting some sort of rebound from the forbidden alchemy you performed?"

He gave the major general a seemingly innocent look. "Seeing as I don't remember how I got it back, the possibility's certainly there."

"I see. Perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves. How did you originally lose the arm and leg?"

Ed took a moment to wonder if Mustang really had pardoned him for that, as he'd inferred immediately after his rise to the Prime Minister's office. "I lost them in an attempt to bring my mother back from the dead." It was nothing Hakuro didn't know, nothing the dozens of books written after his and Al's disappearance hadn't already postulated. It still hurt to say.

"Were you successful?"

"No."

"How old were you at the time?"

"Ten years."

"And your brother, did he join you in this attempt?"

Also postulated, quite accurately, actually. "After I talked him into it. We thought we had a better chance if we tried it together."

"Did you know at the time that human transmutation was illegal?"

Ed frowned. "We knew it was considered taboo and there were few writings on it, but our research had already shown it was being actively practiced by the military at the time so we felt illegal was relative."

There was a muffled uproar at his words, and he gave Tash what he hoped was a rather wicked smirk as he held up a hand, demanding order. Edward wasn't the only one who had something to lose by speaking in front of so many military men, and Hakuro should have known better.

"You are referring to the illegal attempts being practiced in secret under Bradley's administration? That were later discovered and stopped by the same administration?"

"Not too secret if a ten year old knew about them, in my opinion, but yeah, those would be the experiments I was referring to." In truth, he hadn't figured that out until he was fourteen, but it wasn't like Hakuro really knew about it and that the military would really be that eager to pull out records to prove him a liar.

"Ten years old. You were quite the overachiever even then." Tash pursued his lips, wandering slowly up and down some imaginary line in front of the panel. "Some might call you a genius."

Ed shrugged, and Tash accepted it as an answer. "You and your brother received a full pardon for that attempt, if my memory serves? Due to your age and extenuating circumstances?"

"That's what I hear."

"But you've never seen the document yourself?"

Where was he going with that . . ? "Nope."

"You seem relatively unconcerned about the event."

Ah. Trying to show that he wasn't sorry for the attempt. "I almost lost my little brother and did lose an arm and a leg. My life was completely changed by that night, and every waking moment thereafter I spent dedicated to getting back what we'd lost. Forgive me for being a little blasé, but over ten years after the fact it's as much a part of my life as my name. I've had a long time to regret it."

"At ten years of age you were able to perform alchemy that fully qualified adults dare not." Ed stared at him, unable to think of anything to say besides agreeing with the statement, and Tash cocked his head to the side. "So I find it odd that a genius such as yourself could claim to have no idea how you suddenly, as if by magic, regained two limbs you'd been, as you said, attempting to get back every day for over a decade."

Ed inclined his head, as if he agreed that was a valid point. "There's a fine line between healing alchemy and human transmutation, Major General, and I suspect that I crossed it when I realized there was a half ton of limestone where the lower half of my body used to be. You'll forgive my not recalling the specifics, since as you can imagine I was not particularly coherent at the time," he spoke over another loud series of mutters. Tash regained order with another wave of his hand, and Ed decided to continue before he could get interrupted again.

"However, I did have an alchemic amplifier, and since I had studied the human body so completely for the attempt to resurrect my mother, I concentrated on healing the damaged organs before the injury killed me. I can only guess that in that half-unconscious state, in order to get to the pertinent information, my mind wandered over the human body's composition in its entirety. When I woke, I had no amplifier and a significant combat disadvantage."

He hadn't really planned on all that, and in hindsight it sounded both fantastic and a little over the top, but damn, it had a nice flourish about it. Hakuro's stern expression hadn't faltered in the slightest, which meant he wasn't buying a word, but that was fine. The desertion during wartime charge carried with it the death penalty, which he was certain Mustang wouldn't let them get away with, particularly not after last week, so if he lied or told the truth he was still going to be in prison for a very long time.

What he could do was protect everyone else. Al, Mustang, and Sorn.

"Your briefing says you have no idea where the amplifier came from, that it was an anonymous gift?"

He inclined his head. "Yes. I was hesitant to use it but the situation was serious enough to warrant the risk."

"What do you mean when you say you woke with a combat disadvantage?"

Ed frowned at Tash. "Automail is significantly stronger than flesh and blood, and I'm far too accustomed to fighting with it. Hand to hand or combat alchemy in that state, with an arm and leg that hadn't ever actually been used, was impossible. It was one of the reasons I told Sorn to surrender when we were discovered under the destroyed fort we'd transmuted."

The major general seemed genuinely surprised. Not that he let it affect his next question. "You mean you didn't surrender to the enemy in order to protect your newly recovered limbs?"

He bared his teeth. "If I thought that way, do you really think I would have stayed silent while they were interrogating me, and these limbs were being damaged along with the rest of me?"

That line of questioning effectively stymied, Tash tried another route. "Your stubbornness is well recorded in your military files, Elric. Your superior officer during the time of your desertion, Colonel Roy Mustang, made it quite clear in numerous reports to his supervisors. He also laid out a series of plans in your evaluations to rid you of that particular quirk in relation to your superiors. He seems to have failed, though, during your third year under his command, when you disobeyed a recall order and traveled on your own to Resembool."

Ed didn't even bother faking remorse. "Colonel Mustang imparted on me the importance of duty as a National Alchemist. Alchemists are for the people. I was aware of a plot within the military, much as I had been aware of the human transmutation experiments going on," because getting that dig in again would tell Tash this was something he needed to tread very carefully around, "to endanger the lives of thousands of Amestrian citizens. Not knowing if I could trust my superior officer, I did disobey his recall order to protect Amestrian citizens."

"How selfless," Tash purred. "What were you protecting them from?"

Too late he realized what he'd walked into, and he almost swore. Shit. Explain this, and he'd have to explain how Philosopher's Stones were made, to a room with at least four alchemists in it. "A plot by an alchemist to kill thousands in order to perpetuate a war that would keep Bradley in office."

But Tash knew - since Hakuro knew - what the real reason was, and he wasn't so quick to let it go. "And how was this alchemist planning on committing murder on such a large scale?"

"By destroying a city, much like Liore was destroyed, and like the city below Central was destroyed. I daresay that was where she got her inspiration."

"She?"

"She went by the name Dante, after an alchemist of lore who supposedly transmuted a Philosopher's Stone four hundred years ago." Somehow, this entire thing was extremely reminiscent of the lies he'd told Hakuro when he and Roy had been laid up, half dead in a hospital room. Only easier, since there were no drugs. Mustang was right. He was good at this.

Almost as good as Al was.

"Why did you feel you could not trust your superior officer?"

"Because at fifteen I knew my superior officer would do anything for a promotion," and this was met with a few chuckles, "and that his superior officers, some of whom are currently sitting on the panel behind you, would have purposefully delayed getting him the resources necessary to combat the threat specifically to see him fail."

This was met with yet another loud, low rumbling, and this time Hakuro called order. Ed met his glare uncompromisingly.

There was more than one way to end this court martial quickly.

"Are you insinuating that the military would have risked the lives of thousands of citizens on credible intel for internal politics?"

"I was fifteen. All I saw of the military was internal politics." He could give Tash an easy way out, and for speed's sake he would. "I also didn't realize disobeying the recall order for that purpose would still be considered desertion. My files should reflect that I never even went to boot camp." And he owed Havoc for reminding him of that. "My knowledge of military protocol at the time was somewhat lacking, as I was more concerned with studying and less with my career in the military."

"As you said, your purpose was to get back what you lost."

Ed gave a short nod. "The same for the court martial I skipped in the same year. I didn't realize that there were consequences outside of being yelled at by my superior officer, and to be frank he yelled at me whether I did a good job or a poor one."

Another titter, but Tash ignored it. "But you do realize there were consequences now."

I'm here, aren't I? "Yes."

"Can you honestly say you didn't realize there would be consequences for your attacks on then-Lieutenant Jean Havoc, then-Sergeant Kain Fuery, then-Major Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong Arm Alchemist, and your superior officer at the time, Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang?"

He was perfectly okay with getting slapped for attacking them. Fuery and Havoc hadn't deserved it. "I was too afraid of being stopped by the military to care, at that point. The injuries to Fuery and Havoc were caused when Havoc's gun went off accidentally into my automail, shattering the bullet and sending the ricochet back to them."

"But not your attack on two State Alchemists."

He smirked. "To be honest, you should be praising me for holding off two seasoned State Alchemists at that age. The skirmish was brief and I did surrender." Sort of . . .

"Do you feel that excuses you?"

He shook his head mutely.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say in your defense?"

Edward thought about it a moment, keeping Al's 'nothing stupid' clause in mind.

I'd do it all again.

"No."

Unsurprisingly, he was left to remain standing as the panel gathered their folders and filed out into what he could only assume was some sort of deliberation chamber. As soon as they were gone there was a sharp increase in the volume of the mutterings, and he dared to glance around. Morris was to his right, probably the guy instigating most of the laughing and muttering, and he gave him a grin. He narrowed his eyes in return and mouthed '_Did you complete that analysis due last week?'_ and it was sufficient to wipe the smirk right off that boyish face, though Darr Swolls, also on the right-hand side, actually cracked the faintest smile.

One of the MPs in front of him cleared his throat, and Ed grudgingly fell back into a proper parade rest, cursing the fact that so many people he knew got to see him in a uniform in person.

Oh, shit.

If he and Al both went to prison, who was going to run the Academy? Mustang didn't have time, and the idea that it might be left in Armstrong's hands terrified him. If it failed, it was going to be worse than just a black mark on Mustang's files.

Hopefully Al would get out without so much as a slap on the wrist. It really could be argued he thought he was trying to snap a student out of a suicidal depression.

Deliberation took a long time. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or bad, but he was starting to lock his knees by the time they returned, and the last thing he wanted to do was pass out before or after the verdict was read.

Tash got right to the point. "Full Metal Alchemist Edward Elric, you have been judged by a panel of your superiors and found guilty of failure to obey a direct order, contempt, insubordination, and assault on a superior officer." He was listening so hard for the word desertion he almost missed the next sentence. "It is the decision of this panel that due to extenuating circumstances, no further punitive measures are required. Edward Elric is reinstated to his former rank of Major, and shall be returned to active duty upon his discharge from medical treatments. This session is adjourned."

Edward blinked at the major general almost stupidly, quite certain that he hadn't heard that correctly, even as the MPs approached him.

"Major, sir . . ."

What . . .? What the _hell_ would have made Hakuro do that? He had him dead to rights. What could anyone have possibly given the general to let him off the hook?

Shit. It wasn't Al, was it?

Almost unwillingly he was led back towards the double doors. He hadn't realized until that moment how utterly sure and accepting he had been of the fact that he was going to be found guilty of human transmutation and imprisoned. How absolutely certain he had been that Hakuro, finally having his evidence, would nail him with it.

And the fact that it hadn't happened unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.

It was that expression - probably a horrible one - that he was wearing as he passed Alphonse in the hall, and his brother's expectant face was instantly clouded with worry.

"Nii-san-"

But there was no time for pauses, even if he could have formed the words Al had places to go and people to see, and so help him, if Al had traded himself for his freedom he was going to _kill_ his brother.

- x -

**Author's Notes**: Wow. Long time no see! :cuddles all of you!: Apologies for the delay! Real life, darn real life . . . so! Pinako on the mend, and probably with something left to say on the matter. And one court martial out of the way, one to go, and then . . . well, heck, then I guess the end. Ten chapters later than I expected it . . .

Never guessing on chapter length again. Never.

As always, posted without a beta. If you see anything, let me know! And if you see any continuity errors, I apologize in advance - I think I'm in your shoes now, this story is so complex and I stepped away for so long I might've just screwed something up. But I hope not.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

It occurred to him, once he saw the room, that the look of shock and disbelief on his brother's face might have had less to do with his sentence - whatever it had been - and more to do with the number of people who had seen him in uniform.

There were a _lot_ of people in there. Far more witnesses than could ever have been called to testify in such a short time. If he didn't know any better, Alphonse Elric might have suspected Hakuro of giving away tickets.

Or needing witnesses of his own.

It was hard to tell from the murmuring crowd whether the previous verdict had been positive or negative, and Al refrained from looking at Morris, whose dark face was easily distinctive in the crowd. If something terrible had happened, Ed wouldn't have looked shocked. He would have smiled. He would have hidden his fate with a wave or a teasing word. For him to be so open about it, it had to have been something truly surprising to him.

And he doubted execution or even life in prison without parole would have been. It _was_ Hakuro sitting there, looking at him with about as much warmth as a moonbeam. As relatively reasonable as he'd been being lately, Al knew better than to think it wasn't with purpose. Hakuro wanted something, something in return for all the hassle they'd caused him.

What could he have taken that would have made nii-san wear that look . . . ?

Al was centered before the panel of six, ensuring eye contact with each judge and spending no more time on one than any other. Tash was standing on the floor with him, indicating it was his show, and Al waited patiently for the heavy thunk of the doors behind him, signaling the room was ready to begin.

"I will have order." The general's voice was crisp and cool, and the murmuring room fell silent at once. "I call a start to the court martial of the Binding Life Alchemist Alphonse Elric, to answer to charges of criminal misconduct involving a detainee. Major General Lee Tash will lead the questioning."

Al gave him a calm look and received a wide, cold smile. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel Elric. Are you feeling better?"

It was an odd way to begin, and Al gave the major general a curiously baffled look. "Yes, sir." Too late he realized it probably was a little odd to see him running around so soon without the sling. Then again, he probably could have told him it was a false arm filled with a flesh-eating bacteria and it wouldn't have prevented the meaningless greeting from leading directly to the next question.

"I'm relieved to hear it. You were instrumental in protecting Amestris only a few weeks ago, during an attack on Jannai, isn't that right?"

Al was careful not to make a gesture, either in agreement or humility. "I wouldn't go that far, sir."

"You don't have to. Haven't you been reading the papers lately?" Tash strolled behind him before pausing. His voice seemed to be directed to the back of the room. "You stopped the non-certified alchemist Avram Blane from wiping out an entire town. You're a hero, Elric."

It didn't seem to need a response so he didn't give one. Obviously this was to lead up to the reasons he might have attacked Franklin; to punish him for what Blane had done. A valid tactic, though predictable.

"But then again, it's not your first time rescuing a town, is it? Is it perhaps becoming a bit monotonous?"

. . . a rather skewed approach, though. "Sir?"

"I simply mean you've done it before. Liore comes to mind, prior to the invasion of Central seven years ago. And in fact, your brother testified not an hour ago that you and he moved against the Amestrian military to save an unnamed Amestrian city from annihilation by Dante."

Al remained perfectly still. Dante . . . ? Ed had told them about Dante? "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, sir. I'm not sure I understand what you're referring to."

Tash turned towards him, his voice no less soft though it was now just behind his head. "The alchemist propping up the Bradley administration by propagating war. I realize you were young at the time, Alphonse, but your brother indicated that thwarting this alchemist was worth attacking two certified alchemists and his own commanding officer. I find it odd you would forget such a thing."

That was an interesting definition of Dante if ever he'd heard one. "At the time we were looking for her to prevent the attack , as opposed to actively defending a town." He allowed a measured pause. "Trust me, I could never forget."

"Ah, yes." Tash didn't draw it out, but there was an almost audible click as something slipped into place. What, Al couldn't guess, but he had a feeling he knew where it was going. "Not long after that, your brother vanished for years. And in fighting the enemy during the invasion of Central, you disappeared yourself. You have quite a history of risking your life to protect Amestris, Alphonse."

Why would Tash gloss over the part where he invited the invasion?

"So I suppose Jannai being threatened, by the once guardian of one of your own students, probably upset you a great deal, didn't it."

Al relaxed his hands, trying to look forward without actually staring at any one of the judges. "Amestris is my home, sir. It should be upsetting when she's under attack."

"Of course, of course." The squeak of uniform boots on the hardwood floor, as Tash turned once again to the room in general. "I simply wondered if this attack was more personal for you. Seeing as it should have been easily prevented by your student. Red Edward they call him, did you know?"

What a petty attempt. And to think he'd worried. "I'd heard something to that effect."

"But Franklin Sorn's not living up to the mantle, is he." Tash continued his pacing, coming back into Al's peripheral vision on the left. "He's supposed to be a genius on par with the great Elrics. His failure to notice such a plot in his own hometown must have disappointed you."

Al let his eyes flicker briefly to Hakuro's, but the salt and pepper general was giving him an expressionless look. "I was disappointed all right."

"And when he attempted escape from his holding cell, your pent-up frustration coupled with the heat of the moment caused you to lose your temper and strike him."

He was a little surprised that hadn't been elaborated into a two-fisted beating. "I was disappointed that someone who knew better would attempt to kill himself using a pointless transmutation."

The one problem with his plan of defense was that it was going to be very, very public knowledge that Sorn hadn't cared whether he lived or died. It wouldn't make the Prices very happy, and it would surely embarrass the boy when he returned to class, but that embarrassment was a good thing. It would help prevent the same from happening again.

"What do you mean?"

Al did not budge from parade rest. "Sorn heard that . . . that Timothy Patterson had inflicted injury upon himself. He had not been properly restrained since a previous incident of misconduct, and he used that oversight to escape. Sorn intended to use his own body as ingredients in an attempt to perform healing alchemy. However, due to the amount of blood lost, that transmutation would surely have killed him."

Tash twitched an eyebrow. "And how do you know his intentions, Alphonse? Did he tell you?"

In not so many words. "Russell Tringum was in the cell with me at the time, and neither of us knew why he had broken out of his cell, only that he had. We restrained him, and Franklin indicated that he wanted to heal the doctor. When we explained why we hadn't already done it, he said he didn't care that it would kill him."

"The record states both you and Russell Tringum did attempt to save the prisoner's life, and failed."

Alphonse gave a short nod. "Reconstructing blood cells with alchemy is nearly impossible. We can create a fluid that will at least carry oxygen and keep someone alive until a transfusion can be performed, but Patterson knew that, and he planned accordingly. He didn't want to be brought back."

"You sound as though you do not approve."

Al softened his glare by arranging his face in his best German inspection expression. "He was used, like Franklin, by Avram Blane. Timothy Patterson –"

"Attempted to kill the Prime Minister," the major general interrupted silkily. "I should expect that would anger you, whether he was your personal physician or not."

Oddly, if he pretended he was in an inspection line, it was easier to remain silent, and Tash let him stew before being satisfied that he would not attempt to defend the doctor again. "So you say that you struck the boy out of anger that he would attempt suicide, like Timothy Patterson had?"

". . . no, sir." Might as well bite the bullet. "I hit him because it was the only thing that would get his attention. What I had to say was important, and I needed to be sure that he heard it."

Tash spun on his heels, pulling a folder off the high table behind which the judges sat. He made a show of opening it, glancing a few pages up and down. "According to eyewitnesses, you instructed him to live with what he done, and move on, is that correct?"

"Yessir."

It flashed by so quickly Al wasn't sure he'd seen it; something close to hatred on the major general's face, but then it was gone. "So you believed he would attempt suicide again, if given a chance?"

And therein lay the rub. On the one hand, it could allow him a medical discharge from the military, which Al certainly did not want. It was better that he was under someone's thumb, so to speak, until he regained his confidence. On the other hand, it was true, and his own freedom might depend on it. Hakuro couldn't afford to go easy on him, not in front of so many people. "I did."

"Do you still?"

"Hard to say. I haven't spoken to him since the incident in question, obviously."

The corner of Tash's mouth turned up, but that hint of hatred remained. "Of course. As a lieutenant colonel, you are well aware of policy concerning the fair and appropriate treatment of prisoners, even those being tried for treason, are you not?"

"Yessir."

"And you knew it was misconduct to strike a prisoner?"

It took everything in him to prevent his inner Edward from rolling his eyes for him. "I wasn't thinking of military protocol, sir. I was thinking of my student's life."

"Do you feel that absolves you?"

Al felt his eyebrows raise slightly, and while he knew, he _knew_ without a doubt that it was something Ed would and probably had already done, and it would cause him more trouble than he already had, he answered honestly. "Yes, I do."

A quick murmuring rose up, and Tash blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. Alphonse addressed the panel of judges. "You asked me if I thought Franklin Sorn was worthy to be called 'Red Edward,' and the answer is yes. The boy was the victim of unspeakable greed at a very young age. Do I feel that a slap administered to startle a young man out of suicidal thoughts is misconduct? No. I expressed to him exactly why I did it and I am fully confident he understood it was not meant as an interrogation mechanism or punishment."

The major general looked at him a long moment, then pressed his lips together. "Be that as it may, that decision rests with this panel. Is there any other statement you'd like to make in your defense?"

To repair what you've just done, went unspoken. But he heard it in Tash's voice just the same, and he shook his head. "No, sir."

"Very well. The judges shall enter the deliberation chambers."

Again, Al willingly met every judge's eye as they gathered their papers and filed out, and once they were gone, a slightly more casual atmosphere settled. Though several of his students tried to get his attention, Alphonse obediently remained at parade rest, there in the center of the courtroom, with not so much as a chair to hide him from scrutiny.

Actually, now that the questioning was over, it occurred to him that, for most people, this was probably the most intimidating thing that could ever happen to them. The thought made him smile, and the MP in front of him gave him a very odd look.

So much had happened in the past two weeks . . . nearly dying himself, suspecting nii-san dead, taking the Prime Minister hostage, even if only temporarily. To end it with something so, well, pedestrian . . . so many people in the room would never forget the moment they were handed a summons but to him, this entire proceeding was nothing but a disappointment. Whether he was found guilty or not, it didn't really matter. Ten years in prison for a slap, but if it meant Franklin went on and found a reason to keep going, ultimately it didn't mean much.

A decade was longer than four years, but what did prison mean to Alphonse Elric? He could put a piece of his soul into something and leave it with Ed, hell, if he perfected that or they transmuted something that wouldn't reject his soul so quickly, he could even give lectures and hold classes. Would Hakuro really take that into consideration? Al felt his smile growing wider and he gave the MP a conspiratory shrug to put the man's mind at ease.

Deliberation didn't take long, which Alphonse decided was a good thing, if only because it was less time he was standing there grinning like a loon, with a good three other alchemists in the wings that could probably guess what he found so funny and were already planning the betting pool on whether it would work. The judges seemed eager to be done, which Al also thought was probably a good thing.

Tash didn't keep him in suspense long. "Binding Life Alchemist Alphonse Elric, you have been judged by a panel of your superiors and found not guilty of criminal misconduct involving a detainee. Alphonse Elric is reinstated to his former rank of lieutenant colonel, and shall be returned to active duty immediately. This session is adjourned."

-x -

He looked up as the door opened; no knock, but then again, he knew who it was. A glance at his pocketwatch found the time about twenty minutes past what he would have guessed, and Edward Elric sighed, relaxing back in his chair as Al leaned in.

"She told me to collect you on my way."

"Uh-huh." Stalling, he took a deep breath before he got up, closing the folder on his desk and pretending he didn't see the fifty or so still sitting neatly in a pile beside it. The fact that they were in a neat pile on his desk meant he hadn't put them there or touched them, and Alphonse raised an eyebrow.

"You don't seem to have made much of a dent, there, nii-san."

"Other things on my mind." It sounded snappish, so he tempered it with a frown as he grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair. "I can't believe he refused to see us until today and now it's rush rush-"

"Because gee, I bet he couldn't have guessed that you'd accuse him of doing something-"

"Not the point, Al." Ed gave his desk a venomous look it didn't really deserve, stuffing his pocketwatch back into his pocket and circling the desk. "He's up to something. He's up to something and I'll bet you anything that the bastard knows what."

Al rolled his eyes, stepping back into the hall, and Ed was rather glad it was too early for most of the other staff to be there. Paise had done a good job of running the place while they were gone, but two weeks of total lack of administration had taken their toll, and there were too many things she couldn't do for them.

So she'd put them in neat folders and stacked them on his desk.

"Can't you just accept for once that something good happened?"

"_No._ This is the polar opposite of good. You know damn well-"

"-that both of us walked out of court martials without prison time." Al used his teaching voice. "And we can't be tried again for the same crime, so-"

Ed waved his hand through the air impatiently, walking in clipped strides towards the office. This eight am summons of Mustang's was going to interfere with class, and he needed Dueys to make the announcement. "So he'll get us for something else, something quiet that won't get him crucified in the papers."

It was the only thing he could think of that Hakuro would want more than them, and that was the Prime Minister's position. He'd need to remain popular to get it, and putting them behind bars was probably a crappy way to go. It would have to be for something far less fantastic than human transmutation.

Roughing up Sorn would probably have been perfect, if Amestris hadn't been convinced at the time that he was a traitor. Franklin's name had been cleared by Al's court martial, but just. If Al did anything like that again he'd be all but handing Hakuro his head on a plate.

"Nii-san-"

"I'm not going to trust him. He's not worth the risk." The trek down the hallway was at his usual pace, which was still making him uncomfortably aware of how short of breath he was, and he entered the main office in time to see Paise Dueys look up with a bright smile. Her cohort, Mira Bansk, was hanging her jacket on the coat tree, and as she crossed behind Duey's desk she nearly tripped over the back chair legs.

Paise's smile slipped, but only a little. "We're feeling rather miffed this morning?"

Ed scowled, following Mira's gaze to the far corner, where a familiar blond in Amestrian blue was leaning against the wall. Havoc gave him a lazy wave, and behind Ed, Al piped up. "Can you please cancel both our eight am classes?"

A note on her pink pad. "Shall I reschedule?"

Probably unnecessary. Ed didn't even bother to look back at her. "What's one more syllabus date shifted, in the great scheme of things."

"Both classes will be cancelled. Your driver notified me that I should not expect you back until this afternoon," she added, making a little flourish beneath the note she'd written herself. When neither of them said anything, Havoc gave them a lazy grin.

Ed's frown deepened, and he cocked his head toward his brother. "You know, I can't tell if Hawkeye's punishing him, or doesn't trust us."

"Probably a little of both."

"I'm standing right here, you know," the lieutenant colonel drawled, and Al broke their conspiratory glance to catch Mira's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

The other woman was massaging her foot and giving Paise glares that were genuine in their frustration, and she jumped at the address. "Oh, yes sir! Just surprised to see you both here is all. Paise, isn't there something you wanted to notify Alphonse of when he returned?"

It was a rather odd segue, and Paise shook her head sharply, ripping the note off her pad and beginning another one. Probably to tack onto the doors to let their students know that once again, their classes were being interrupted. They'd all but had a three week vacation, and it was going to push back certification exams, research –

Winry would kill him if he couldn't make it back to Resembool by the holidays.

"Oh, yes, Alphonse, there were a couple phone calls for you, but I left those messages on your desk."

"Oh, right." Al shook his head in amusement. "I still have Bert's car. The old man from Jannai I was telling you about?"

"Well, if he was evacuated with all the rest, he can drive it back himself." Trust Al to be worried about that after everything else that had happened.

"I thought it might be nice to make some improvements to it, since I kept it so long-"

"And speaking of driving," Havoc murmured, stepping off the wall to catch Ed's shoulder.

"The bastard can wait for us for once." It came out a bit more bitter than he intended, and Havoc gave him a strange look before the grip on his shoulder changed from friendly to firm.

"Al, give us a minute, would you?"

Ed was propelled out of the office before he even realized what was going on, and he did not resist in the slightest as Havoc all but dragged him down the hall. "Whoa, Havoc, I was kidding-"

"I know." It was easy but there was an undercurrent of something business-like beneath. "But that's a hell of a defensive attitude you're carrying around."

They stopped almost out of earshot of the office, and Ed let his confusion show, bad mood momentarily forgotten. "What do you mean? Mustang-"

Havoc released him to wave his hand. "I'm not talking about Mustang. If you weren't giving him hell I'd say you still needed to be in the hospital."

This didn't clear things up at all. ". . . I don't get it."

Jean gave him another strange look, this one dimming to incredulousness when it became apparent that he really didn't have the faintest clue what Havoc was talking about. ". . . you're shitting me, right?"

"Uh . . . what are we talking about?"

Jean thumbed over his shoulder. "Al and the cute secretary."

Mira wasn't exactly the easiest on the eyes, so Havoc had to be talking about Paise. "Oh, the 'we' thing is kind of an inside joke-"

Havoc shook his head, his brows furrowing before an odd little smile crossed his features. "You didn't even notice, did you."

The bad mood resurfaced. "Notice what?" So Mira was acting a little oddly, but she was kind of a klutz and thought she was a psychic. She was rather odd by definition, sort of his own neurotic Sheska. "Spit it out." Al and Paise . . . but what . . .

Havoc was clearly enjoying watching him figure it out. "So Al wasn't playing it off either. You really had no idea."

Paise did light up every time Al was in the room, but she'd done that forever, and it was only because he was usually grumpy in the mornings and Al was a column of fucking sunshine at five am. Al had told him she'd been terrified of him when she'd first come to work at the Academy, which meant they'd talked about it, but-

But Al wasn't usually oblivious to those sorts of things, and he would have mentioned it. Surely would have mentioned it. "You think Al . . . and Paise . . .?" He scoffed. "No offense, Havoc, but . . . your track record, it's not . . . well, you're still-"

"Single?" Havoc crossed his arms and leaned against the wall again, and Ed wondered how he'd ever managed to stand at parade rest for the hours necessary to pass boot camp. "That's 'cause I've been waiting for a girl to look at me the way she's lookin' at your brother."

It might have been corny, but Havoc looked so serious, and Ed stuffed his hands in his pockets and mirrored Havoc's position. Al and Paise . . . well, that could make sense. She was sweet, competent, pretty . . . but he wasn't really sure she could keep up with Al-

Then again, Al was in many ways less competitive than he was. Al might not need someone who could keep up with him the same way Ed did. Winry was a genius in her own right, and wouldn't hesitate to beat him the moment he forgot it, but that just didn't fit in with Al. That could be the reason Al seemed so . . . not jealous.

And Havoc thought he'd been being an ass in the office because he didn't approve. So Paise might as well. Ed tipped his head back on the wall. "Crap."

"What? You don't like her?"

"I like her fine." Mira had said there was something Paise wanted to tell Al . . . but wouldn't with them standing there. Havoc was probably right. He'd seen in fifteen seconds something Ed hadn't even noticed. "It'll just be a pain if she asks Al out right before we go deal with the bastard."

"Why? He doesn't handle women so well?"

Ed scowled. Al handled women – particularly German women – better than he did. "He'll be so freakin' happy he won't be paying attention."

"So you're just pissed off there won't be someone at your back."

Ed cocked an eyebrow. "This coming from someone that shot me." It might be too early to joke about it, still, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. "Hakuro's gonna be there, isn't he."

"Dunno."

"I thought you were assigned to Hawkeye these days . . . why are you still shuttling us around?"

Havoc gave him the same slightly stupid look he wore when he wanted someone else to think something had gone over his head. "Followin' orders."

". . . you know, Al had a crush on Hawkeye when he was a kid."

Havoc smirked. "You're really not jealous then?"

The office door clicked open, and both of them glanced over to see Al's head poking out into the hall. He didn't look as though anything mind-blowing had happened. No shell-shock, no dazed look. Only quiet inquisitiveness.

Then again, Al was a really good liar. Ed made a mental note to quietly fish for clues after their meeting with Mustang.

Apparently their casual posture put Al's mind to rest. "Is it safe to come out yet?"

-x-

By the time Havoc had them in the car, on their way, Ed had no better indication that anything had happened. Al seemed exactly as he had been before, as tolerant of his crankiness concerning Mustang's summons, as lighthearted with Havoc, and as level-headed as usual. Despite warnings of a certain lieutenant colonel, they arrived with time to spare, and Ed noticed both of them look towards the empty display glass at the top of the stairs as they passed it.

Al looked almost sad. "Jade dragon's still missing. I wonder if he's ever going to put anything back in there."

"Didn't someone say something about a trip to Xing to see if the maker would repair it?"

Al glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Nii-san?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember what happened the last time we were there, right?"

Ed rubbed the back of his neck, letting unwanted memories resurface. "I didn't say _we_ would be going to Xing. I said _someone._"

"Just . . . if we get volunteered, we'll have to explain why we can't go, and-" Al lowered his voice. "If you're right about Hakuro looking for a reason to throw us in prison, that would be it."

Particularly if the royal family was able to recognize them. That wretched commander of the Cretians had, and Ed had a feeling the royal family of Xing had a long memory. "Right. How about we don't mention it then."

"I think that's a good plan."

Havoc was looking between the two of them curiously. "So," he drawled after a moment, "what did you two do in Xing?"

"Nothing," they both responded quickly, and Ed grinned to himself. Now that Hawkeye didn't answer directly to Mustang, he wondered how long it would take this little tidbit of information to trickle to Mustang. Which brought him back to the summons at hand, and when they crossed into the lobby outside the Prime Minister's office, Ed was a little surprised when Challiel stopped her conversation with a short-haired blonde and held up a gentle hand.

"The Prime Minister's previous meeting is still in session. Please make yourselves comfortable."

He was even more surprised when her conversation partner turned, and it was none other than Colonel Riza Hawkeye.

Ed blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You cut your hair."

Riza Hawkeye gave them both a bland smile that turned quite genuine when their shock continued. "Good afternoon, lieutenant colonel." She waved away Al's hasty salute, looking Ed up and down when he didn't even bother. "I trust they were no problem, Havoc?"

"No more than usual."

"But you don't work here anymore," Ed's mouth continued, while his brain slapped its hand over its forehead. "I mean, for Mustang. What are you doing here?" If Mustang wanted to see both him and Hawkeye, who now had a command, sort of an academy of her own for snipers, then what-

"Good morning, Hawkeye, it's good to see you," Al said slowly, as if a child or a foreigner was in the room and he needed to set a good example. "Enjoying life with your new command?"

"Too early to tell." Her smile continued, though, and she might as well have been the woman they first met when Ed had become nationally certified. Quiet, confident, bobbed hair and long bangs, she looked every inch the officer you would expect to put a group of green snipers through their paces. Somehow there was less tension singing through her frame. She looked happy.

Which wasn't to say she'd been unhappy before, was it? Ed searched his memory briefly before he decided it didn't really matter. If she was happy now, that was certainly a good thing. "Nothing they do to you can be worse than what Havoc and Breda already put you through."

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "Havoc and Breda by themselves were quite easy to manage. Adding a certain young Elric to the mix was what turned things toxic."

Al snorted with laughter. "What, they acted up more because nii-san was around?"

"Hey, I didn't make anybody start smoking-"

"Everyone brings it up like it's a flaw," Havoc complained, and gave his commanding officer an apologetic shoulder shrug. "Their return vehicle has been arranged, if you're ready?"

She nodded once, and Ed recalled his earlier question. "So . . . you're not part of this meeting with Mustang?"

"As you so recently pointed out, I don't work here anymore," she murmured coolly, and he had the good grace to grimace slightly at his own tactlessness. "Sheska was certain there were some files we failed to transfer, so she's tracking them down. I had some paperwork for Personnel, and Havoc was specifically requested to gather and transport the two of you, so –"

"Why Havoc?" Might as well find out if it was the punishment he'd thought it was-

"He has the highest success rate of anyone in the military," she responded, and a door banging open to their left attracted their attention.

Ed watched Al wave to a red-faced Breda, carrying a pile of boxes that almost reached up to his forehead. Sheska was scurrying along behind him, murmuring something about exerting himself, and squeaked when she caught sight of them.

"He won't put them down! Sirs!" she added quickly.

"For pete's sake, I'm fine. They're not heavy-"

For not being heavy, he did look a little out of breath, and Ed couldn't quite quell a small pang of guilt when Havoc moved past the two of them swiftly but casually, divesting his friend of half his burden while Sheska continued to apologize to Hawkeye for letting him carry them in the first place. If Breda minded the help he didn't show it, and there was a ghost of his former facial hair creeping down his left cheek when he turned to greet Al.

Thoughts of Irving turned him back to thoughts of Mustang, and the conversation he'd never gotten with the man. Al had been there the last time he'd spoken with Mustang, and there were a few things he really needed to tell the bastard before Hakuro arrived. Assuming that wasn't who he was in with now.

An idea occurred to Ed, and he grinned at Breda's 'save me' expression while giving the room a once-over. Challiel was ignoring him, trying to calm Sheska, whose voice was rising in pitch as she enumerated the various files she still could not find, and both Al and Hawkeye were similarly engaged. Only Goodman gave him an odd look as Ed wandered casually over to the first conference room, but he pretended to ignore him and slipped in as if aimlessly meandering.

There was more than one door to the Prime Minister's office, after all. He could duck his head in, see who it was, and determine if what he had to say trumped whatever was going on in there. Or if it was Hakuro, in which case he could be blunt and get to the point before anyone else showed up.

The door between the seven conference rooms and the Prime Minister's office was locked, but it wasn't a particularly complicated one, and the door opened soundlessly.

And it occurred to Ed, belatedly, that maybe he should have just waited until Mustang was ready to see them. Since he was standing there at his desk, holding a strapless lavender gown against his chest and hugging it around the middle as if he was afraid it was going to get away.

"You can't measure length that way," a reedy voice crackled at him, and the short, hunched figure of an old woman tottered into view between the chairs in front of his desk. "The hem is fine."

"I don't doubt your skills for a moment," Mustang said smoothly, and Ed just stood in the doorway, dumbstruck. "I'm just . . . surprised it's so long."

The old woman – she had to be older than the first body of Dante's he'd met – crossed her arms, as if to stop herself from snatching the garment away from him. "Military personnel hold their shoulders square. Extra half-inch in the back to compensate."

"Of course." He surrendered the gown, and behind him, Ed thought he heard motion. He slipped in before Goodman could stop him, closing the door gently behind him, and Roy's eye turned toward the motion.

For a tense second they merely stared at each other, and then Roy shook his head. "Come in," he murmured unnecessarily, and the old woman gave him a hard look up and down as he approached the desk, feeling suddenly very much like he had seven years ago when he'd leveled a town during a mission. Even though he'd put it back together before he'd left, he still felt like he'd just disappointed Mustang somehow.

"It's lovely," he continued to the woman Ed recognized as his seamstress, and now that he was closer he could see that the gown bore a small amount of beadwork, almost a sash down the side in a design he couldn't quite grasp before the woman was tottering away with the thing, back to a tailor's bag laying on the larger conference table.

"So it's adequate then?" she pressed, and Roy's lips quirked.

"More than adequate."

"Assuming you guessed right on the color." But there was something underneath the old woman's perpetually unhappy tone, and Ed felt a small smile of his own as it clicked.

"Finally asked Hawkeye on a date, huh."

"That would be none of your business, Fullmetal," Mustang replied, giving him more of his attention. "I believe our meeting is scheduled for ten minutes from now."

"Wanted to talk to you before then. About-"

There was a sharp knock on the door, and it was opened to reveal Goodman. Ed gave him a disarming smile, and if possible, the burly bodyguard glowered further. "Prime Minister-"

Roy just waved him off. "It's a different Elric this time." Ed had little time to reason what that meant before Al's curious face appeared behind Goodman, and something in Mustang deflated, just a little bit. "Show them in," he continued in a rather defeated tone, and his guard gave him what was clearly an apologetic look before stepping back.

"Different Elric-"

"Not another word, Fullmetal."

His seamstress wasn't finished putting the gown away before Al stepped in, followed by Hawkeye with a curious Havoc tagging along. If the colonel seemed surprised by Mustang's 'guest' she gave no hint, and the seamstress sighed in a very put-upon way and fully removed the gown from the bag once again.

"Now that you're here anyway," she grunted, with no look at the rather strangled expression on her employer's face. "Go. Let me see the hem length."

He expected her to blow up, or say something scathing or biting, but instead she blushed – blushed! – and did as she was instructed, being herded by the seamstress the entire time into the Prime Minister's private bath. Havoc was almost slackjawed and Al didn't look much better, and Mustang waited until both women had shut the door before he sighed.

Ed cringed. "I-"

"Don't follow orders very well," Roy cut in warningly, and Ed shut his mouth. So clearly that was supposed to be both a surprise and a secret, and he'd-

Almost like he'd possibly blown it for Al. Winry was going to wet herself laughing when he told her about this.

Havoc coughed lightly. "Uh, you really think it's okay to let the two of them . . . I mean, she's fierce-"

"Was there anything I can do for you, lieutenant colonel?"

"She made your Cretian uniform," Al said suddenly. "So she's really as bad as she looks?"

Mustang apparently decided that all was lost and took his seat behind his desk. "Worse. But she does excellent work."

There was another quiet knock at the still-open door, and Challiel gave Mustang a practiced smile. She obviously knew that her boss's surprise was blown, and adding insult to injury was pretty harmless at this point. "General Hakuro and Major Sorn are here."

He made a come hither motion, and Ed watched in surprise as the general entered, followed by a thin ghost of the young man he hadn't seen since before his execution by the Cretians. Franklin had always obeyed dress code, wearing Amestrian blue at all required occasions, but somehow seeing him in it really drove home the fact that he was tied to the military, literally tied by his sentence, and the general that was walking in front of him had something to do with that.

Tringum had said he was almost unrecognizable, and it wasn't far from the truth. His face was much thinner than Ed remembered, and he wasn't a fat kid to start. His mechanical mannerisms faltered when he passed Al and Havoc, and Ed saw a brief flash of something ugly cross Jean's face.

Franklin chose to stand on Hakuro's right, placing the general between himself and everyone else, almost like a shield, and Ed nearly shook his head.

Of all the people in the room, Hakuro was the worst shield he could think of.

Mustang didn't beat around the bush. "General, Major." He waved everyone closer to his desk rather than at the conference table, and Ed saw his brother's lips thin. He didn't necessarily disagree with Mustang wanting to intimidate Sorn, though, and he wasn't sure why Al would feel otherwise. It might have been the first time Sorn had even been in the same room with Mustang since his trial, and he had almost succeeded in getting the other alchemist killed.

Besides, his seamstress's garment bag was still on the conference table. He hoped Hawkeye had the good sense to stay where she was as soon as she heard their voices.

"Franklin Sorn, you are here to be assigned to your parole officer. General, have you chosen such an officer?"

Hakuro gave Roy a long look, then made an interesting choice to drop the formal tone Mustang had set. "The fact that he _is_ an officer keeps me up at night." Hakuro glanced at him, and Ed tried to keep his face relatively neutral. Hakuro would choose the most insidious officer he had, because of course Sorn's new parole officer could go anywhere Sorn could go, and since he was still a certified alchemist and still had to attend the Academy, it was giving Hakuro an unprecedented in into alchemist territory.

Hell, he might assign Tash. Except he was too high-ranking.

"In my selection process, I took into account the special circumstances and skills of the officer under probation. Despite his already heavy responsibilities, I feel Edward Elric is the best choice, at least until evaluation in a year's time."

Ed blinked.

"Edward Elric, do you accept this responsibility?"

"Can I say no?" he asked bluntly, glancing again to see that Franklin was looking at some point about two inches off the floor. Not even meeting his eyes. "I don't see Franklin Sorn anywhere in this room."

The boy didn't move, and Ed sighed impatiently despite a warning look from his brother. "Besides, it would be a bit awkward, wouldn't it? We're both the same rank."

"Lieutenant Colonel is a higher rank than Major," Roy observed blandly.

Ed considered that for a long moment. Buying his acceptance of the order with a rank equivalent to Al's. Did he really care that much?

As if the rank meant anything. And as if he'd really let Franklin go at this point. He wasn't just unrecognizable. He might no longer even be an alchemist. "Already signed the paperwork, didn't you."

"Two days ago. Congratulations on your promotion, lieutenant colonel." Hakuro might as well have been talking about a hemorrhoid flare-up. "You are required by law to have at least one meeting a week with Major Sorn, to evaluate his progress and ensure he is no longer a threat to Amestris. If a mission or another assignment makes that inconvenient, you may elect another officer of sufficient rank to have the meeting in your stead, as long as you give that officer and Sorn a full two days' notice of the change."

Ed crossed his arms. "And what progress do you want him to make? Perhaps eye contact again?"

Sorn shifted his weight but remained staring at that same point of Mustang's desk. Al opened his mouth, but Ed shook his head silently.

Hakuro glanced between the two of them. "He is still a valuable National Alchemist, and I would be disappointed if the State military gained no new technology during the next three years."

It was hard to tell if Hakuro was trying to play off him or honestly meant to make his expectations clear. Either way Ed stared steadily at Franklin. He couldn't be used to this kind of treatment, he was a hero of his hometown and respected, at the very least, back at the Academy. He would have no friends there now, Mustang and even he himself were too popular and those attacks would leave scars that the boy might never recover from. That Al was willing to stand up for him said a lot.

About Al, the darker part of his mind murmured sardonically, and Ed wondered what the next Mustang thing to say would be. I'm already disappointed? Isn't he a little small for such high hopes?

He'd have to be careful of the short jokes, or Franklin would catch on.

"I expected that you'd want a little more say in the rest of your life, Sorn."

"What's the point?" It was mumbled, but at least it was an answer. "Even if I said I wanted to resign, would the military let me?"

Ed glanced at Mustang, who had folded his hands beneath his chin and was wearing that damnable unreadable look. He sure as hell hadn't let Al quit. "It doesn't have the best track record when it comes to resignation of State Alchemists, no."

Franklin shrugged, and then dragged his eyes up so they were looking somewhere at Ed's mouth. "I don't want to do this anymore."

He was rather proud of Al for continuing to remain silent, as did the general and Mustang, letting him soak the boy in silence for a moment or two. He had said something so personal so openly, in front of a complete stranger who obviously didn't like him, and Ed wondered if he himself had done the same thing when having a crisis of faith.

"Fantastic. I don't want you to do this anymore either."

Franklin was shocked enough to actually look at his eyes.

"I don't like war and I don't like homunculi. I don't like putting people back together after transmutations gone wrong. And I _hate_ the array Blane gave you." Better throw that in before Hakuro got impatient that he wasn't hearing anything good. "How about you try using alchemy for what it's for."

Sorn knew exactly where it was going but he dropped his eyes again rather than drum up the energy to contradict him, and Ed stifled an eyeroll. "You really want to leave Jannai without an alchemist? They started off with two."

The boy twitched. "I can't go back there."

Ed didn't have a lot of room on the subject of home so he didn't pursue it. "Let me put it to you this way. For the next three years you belong to the State. If you want to give up alchemy after that, fine. You can spend the next three years learning some kind of marketable skill so you have a job when you get out. General Hakuro aside, I don't really care what you study so long as you don't try to destroy the known universe."

Franklin didn't look back up at him, but the boy's mouth was drawn tight in a little bow. Much like he'd been at that age, Ed couldn't imagine a life without alchemy. Not even when he'd gone to the alter-Earth had he managed to completely push it from his mind. Franklin was far too used to being a respected genius in this field, throwing it away sounded good until you realized there had to be something after.

"Considering the circumstances, am I allowed to name the other lieutenant colonel Elric as my backup?"

Hakuro gave him a dirty look. "Use your best judgment." He said it like he had no trust that Ed actually had any, and Ed returned the look with one of his own.

"Tringum would be a good choice, then, if you've cleared him?"

"No!" It was small but insistent, and Edward saw a frightened fifteen year old where a mature young adult had once been. "I-I don't want to-"

"What you want," Mustang interrupted him, "is not up for discussion." He picked up his pen, making himself a note in a small journal even while he commanded Franklin's undivided attention. "You had the trust of this country, its citizens, and its leaders. You abused and spent that trust. The only way for you to start earning it back is to put others before yourself, even if that means doing something you don't want to do. That is what you agreed to when you became a State Alchemist."

Sorn dropped his eyes again, and Ed glanced at Mustang to see thinly veiled exasperation in the man's visible eye. Clearly that little spiel was just as much for his benefit as it had been for Franklin's. Not because it wasn't obvious what he was doing to Franklin, but to give him a graceful way to accept the order without looking like he wanted to.

Ed crossed his arms and sighed. "Fine. I take it I need to approve his annual report before it makes it to your desk?"

Roy gave him a droll look. "That shouldn't be necessary, Fullmetal. After all, you will be monitoring every stage of every project or interest he picks up for the next year. Submit biweekly reports to this office. General, what documentation will you be needing?"

"Copies of those documents should be fine."

Of course Hakuro wasn't going to give them Franklin without getting something in return.

"Very well. Franklin Sorn, Edward Elric, you have your orders."

Sorn looked slightly panicked when his shield moved away, leaving him to the horrors that were the Elrics, and Ed didn't hassle him further, just glanced back at Mustang's desk. "Havoc said we'd be out till the afternoon."

Roy gave him another unreadable look. "I assume you will be. Academy responsibilities will need to be reorganized in the face of this assignment. Alphonse, your brother has never been particularly skilled at delegation. See if you can broaden his horizons a little."

Alphonse raised an eyebrow. "That's a tall order, sir."

Roy paused, lips quirking, and Ed narrowed his eyes. "Don't," he growled sharply. "_even_ go there."

"Why, Fullmetal, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Let's go, Sorn," he grumbled, turning on his heels and marching across the room. Hakuro was already well on his way, and the glaring hulk that was Goodman was there when Ed reached the doorjamb, trying to ignore the sound of Al's quiet murmuring and a chuckle out of the Prime Minister. Instead, he frowned up – and he hated to admit it _was_ up, damn them for making fun of him in front of Franklin – at the larger man. Something about his expression made Ed decide that maybe right this moment wasn't the best time to press his luck by asking what 'different Elric' meant, so he simply passed by without word, waiting impatiently in the lobby for Al to wander out.

Sorn stopped obediently with him, and Ed watched him out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be more irritated by the short jokes than he really was. While what Mustang had said would have seriously affected Ed when he'd been fifteen, he knew that Roy and Sorn weren't that close. The kid had been using him for information much like Ed had tried to do, but Franklin had probably not even gotten as far as he had in that department. It was hard to say how hard they'd been on him, and Ed was obviously not as good at reading people as he'd like to think. Not if he'd overlooked Paise.

"So I guess we need to lay down some ground rules."

Franklin didn't say a word.

"I don't have time to babysit you. You know what you need to be doing. If you skip class, expect me to find you, and if you don't have a _very_ clever excuse, we'll use that time to work on your close combat skills."

He said nothing else, and eventually Sorn ventured to speak. "How would you like your reports?"

More paperwork. Lovely. Then again, if he had to give them to Hakuro, he hardly wanted to have to write them himself. "Complete enough for military work. The rest you can give to me verbally. If you leave anything out-"

"We'll work on my close combat skills. I get it."

Ed gave him a dark look. "Don't let me down."

Franklin glanced at the doorway, though Al and Havoc were apparently still talking to the Prime Minister. "I did try to . . . to transmute without an array, I just-"

"Didn't," he finished shortly. Then he decided that was going a bit too far. He didn't want to alienate Franklin. He just wanted to give him some room to go up. "Don't worry about it. I didn't figure it out until a woman was going into labor in front of me."

The slightest glint of curiosity, so slight he might have imagined it. ". . . I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be."

For some reason, that seemed to relax Franklin, just a little. The normalcy of their conversation. "Your brother said the same thing."

Ed grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing at the door as well. In a second he was going to go back in there just to make sure Mustang and Al weren't plotting something behind his back. "He knows me pretty well."

Nothing else was said while they waited, and soon enough Al came through the doors, flanked by Havoc. Jean had been laughing, but he let it drain from his face the moment he laid eyes on them, and Ed made a mental note of it. Of course, Havoc had shot him, but he'd watched Franklin sit there and try – and fail – to transmute a way out. And the kid had tried to have Mustang killed.

Maybe giving the kid assignments with the military period wouldn't be such a good idea, either. At least not for a while.

"For a minute I thought I'd have to go rescue you." He craned his neck as Goodman closed the door. "I take it we're leaving Hawkeye in there?"

Al shrugged, glancing at Havoc. "Did you know about that?"

The lieutenant colonel shook his head, looking around for presumably Challiel. "Nope."

"Sheska and Breda are waiting downstairs," the woman said helpfully, and then cleared her throat. "Did I hear correctly that the Prime Minister needs some assistance?"

That was an understatement. "Perhaps an opinion," Al tried diplomatically, and she schooled her expression into one of seriousness as she passed them. Havoc watched her go almost sadly.

"You should take Bread and Sheska back. I'm sure Mustang will arrange Hawkeye's transportation."

Ed silently thanked Al, though he saw that Havoc wasn't going to need much persuasion. "It's a pretty short walk, and we need to talk anyway."

To his credit, Havoc made one more attempt. "Are you sure your doctor's not going to skin my hide for this?"

"No," both he and Al responded at once, and Al snickered. "She's not as bad as the seamstress, though."

Probably.

Havoc did crack a smile at that, though a reluctant one, and it was only a few minutes before they found themselves out in the bright morning sunlight. Breda was standing at the curb, ripping what little hair he had out as he watched Sheska maneuver the car through the parking lot with painful slowness, and Al blinked.

"I didn't know Sheska could drive."

"I dunno that I'd call that driving, Al."

He snorted. "I don't know that you're the best judge-"

Ed looked heavenward and groaned. "Drop it already, I haven't wrecked a car in . . ." He considered. "Technically he wrecked the last car." And he jerked his head in Franklin's direction.

Al said nothing at first, and they headed off at a rather relaxed pace with a wave to Hawkeye's men. When they were well out of earshot, Al turned to look at Sorn.

"So let's talk about transmuting without arrays."

- x -

FIN

- x -

**Author's Notes**: I know, you guys are wondering what happened to this story. And I made you wait forever for the last chapter. Because this, folks? This was the last chapter. It took me something ridiculous like five months to write this chapter. And do you know why?

Because it didn't have enough Havoc in it. The moment he played a more important role, the thing was right back on track again. Thanks to silverfox2702 for making the suggestion!

There will be several other chapters posted, the notes for the fic as well as all the deleted/rewritten scenes. I'll format that and get it out in a few days. But most importantly – I think the plotholes are wrapped up. The court martials are over, the boys are home free, Edward is a little walking talking Roy Mustang, complete with hated paperwork and an annoying young subordinate, Pinako will recover . . . life will be okay.

And _NO_, the trip to Xing is _not_ a sequel opening. Not not not.

Thank all of you so much for reading and enjoying! If there's anything you recall that I failed to wind up, please do let me know! There could be something in it for you . . . (NO, not another sequel. This was forty-three chapters of crack, folks.) All that said, I loved writing it, and I am so, so, _so_ thrilled that so many of you have enjoyed it and come along for the ride!

As usual, no beta, and I'll go back and clean up what's been commented on. Again, thank you thank you **thank you** and I hope your Thanksgiving was lovely, and your Christmas holiday will be as well.


	44. Story Notes

Good evening, folks! This here is a followup, to show you how I plotted out this monster and what I had in mind when I started. A great deal of this belongs to Inkydoo, who assisted in much planning and bouncing, as well as Silverfox2702, who then served to cause delays by infecting me with D. Gray Man. This chapter will deal with what I originally envisioned the fic to be and my notes - next chapter is all about deleted scenes! Enjoy!

-x-

There are three fictional towns: Arturu, Jannai, and Rountal. The sensei currently lives in Rountal, but old records will indicate he lived in Jannai at some point, four years before the plague. Franklin was born in Arturu/Jannai. A plague wiped out most of the village before a cure was discovered, and when it was subsequently resettled, it was renamed Jannai. Franklin hails from Jannai. Patterson hails from Arturu (because he was ten when the plague struck, as opposed to Franklin's five.)

Franklin was born in 1906. He transmuted a Stone out of forty people in 1919 at age of 14.

Patterson was born in 1901. He is two years younger than Ed.

The plague hit Arturu/Jannai in 1911.

_(Here there were two maps of Amestris so I could keep my geography correct, but of course those don't display here on this particularly site.)_

New Characters:

Franklin's sensei – Avram Blane

Lily Blane - Avram's wife and Patterson's adopted sister

Cretian minions working with Franklin

Timothy Patterson as bad guy

Second Lieutenant Kain Fuery

Drachman leader (and government) – Shurik Tolya, Supreme Commander of Drachma (his Eminence)

Brooks – one of Mustang's bodyguards

Goodman – the other bodyguard

Major Heymans Breda

Pasie Dueys – School secretary

Major General Alex Louis Armstrong (promoted from Brigadier General)

Breckhart, Elric, Morris, Sorn, Swolls, and Tringum – list of alchemists Al gets from Mustang

Darr Swolls – little-known by Al, 30s, Ishbalan

Morris – lives in dorms, black

Franklin Sorn – lives at 812 Treewell (Cobalt lane intersects it and can be caught off Division Circle)

Mechanical Alchemist – Franklin Sorn

Binding Life Alchemist – Lieutenant Colonel Al Elric

Winding Tree Alchemist – Russ Tringum

Quiet Alchemist – Swolls (modifies frequency of objects – walks through walls, eliminates/causes sound)

Saundra – alchemist mentioned in PAA:FA as injured by Irving (possibly female teacher in Academy)

Arei and Finn – two boys that witnessed the Ishbalan attack (aka Franklin transmuting a Stone)

Zachariah Bindlow – old man from cafe in Jannai

Bert – old man from cafe in Jannai

Rachel – waitress from café in Jannai; dating Arei

Mira Bansk – office assistant with Paise Dueys

Chamber Speaker Durnd – Parliament official in the hospital

Dr. Ackernath – sees to Pinako Rockbell

Lucille – blonde female alchemist, known to Franklin

Master Sergeant Denny Brosh

Ambassador Agata – one of the Drachman ambassadors, witnessed the assassination attempt

Sergeant Sheska

First Lieutenant Maria Ross

Bren Durrell – the Flint Alchemist, deceased by Irving's amplifier

Challiel – Mustang's secretary

Sergeant Pindank – Ed's research assistant in Sorn's library

Madelyne and Dolph Price - Sorn's guardians and owners of a donut shop in Liore

General Terese Enora - Cretian general

Commander Reinken - Cretian commander in charge of Edward

Specialist Sapud - Franklin's Cretian contact

Nidler - enemy alchemist

Luis - Cretian torture expert

Lanan - Cretian alchemist

Ike - Cretian medical officer

Speaker Morian - Parliament house rep that opposes Mustang

Dr. Murly - Hakuro's staff doctor

Anya Sein - alternate Cretian general

Lieutenant Colonel Jean Havoc

Sadie and Bonita - Pinako's nurses, know Patterson, work for Ackernath

First Lieutenant Vato Falman

Dr. Lise Dalyell - Ed and Al's new doctor - brown eyes

Major General Lee Tash - interrogating Sorn, Patterson, and Blane

Marcus - giant orderly, works for Dalyell

Daugherty - organizing witnesses for the Parliament trials

**Official timeline (not narrative timeline)**

(You may notice I diverged a bit, but when I originally plotted this thing, this is what it was supposed to look like. =)

Franklin transmutes a test Stone out of forty people at a religious gathering one year prior to Ed and Al's return to Amestris, having decoded enough of their notes. He is not able to determine the 7-point circle, using the 6-point everyone knows and loves. It seems inefficient to him, which was why he was looking for a better array. His sensei assisted.

Franklin uses the destruction around Central after the events of PAA:FA to transmute tunnels around the ruins of Lab 5. Determines he will not be able to mine enough Red Stone before the Cretain army has mobilized on West City. Acquires some Red Stone during this operation, uses it in experimenting with resurrecting dead animals/creating chimera/seeing if they survive brief movement through time.

Franklin acquires a small piece of the remains of Craege Irving (highly toxic to alchemists, toxic to humans, giving off alchemic energy as alchemic bonds around the molecules break down.) Franklin plans to use a smidge of those remains to create an explosion (think substitute for uranium) of alchemic energy used to boost the effects of his test Stone. Hasn't done it yet; it's found on his bench after he falls under suspicion.

Hakuro suspects internal help in the assassination attempts based on Edward's lie in PAA:FA, and begins investigations, informing Parliament but NOT Mustang or his people. Hakuro pulls Breda in to investigate Mustang's men, which is how Patterson hears that the investigation is going on.

Franklin is contacted by the Cretians for more information on West City's fortifications. He does research/manipulates orders there that is later discovered by Edward, leading him to find Franklin in West City. Franklin determines that things are moving more quickly than he expected, and he makes preparations to leave Central for an area west of West City. He also begins a list of loose ends that need tying up. (He knows that Patterson lived in his town, but does not know Patterson has a link to his sensei.)

Narration starts off with Mustang meeting with Drachman officials. The recent assassination attempts on Mustang and the attempt to destroy Central are discussed. Drachman leader insinuates that if Amestris doesn't do something about the party responsible for framing them, they may have to have him killed just to protect their pride. Drachmans leave Mustang with three 'diplomts,' all women, and tell him to get married. It is inferred that Mustang marrying a Drachman will ease border tensions significantly.

Mustang isn't very happy about this; Ed's lie regarding Irving has caused some of this problem. Hakuro meets with Mustang immediately after, informing him of the preliminary investigations and revealing the results. He has identified several alchemists that have shown irregular behavior. On that list is Franklin Sorn as well as Russell Tringum. He also identified a variety of possible informants, including Kain, Sheska, Havoc, Patterson, and one of the two bodyguards Mustang stole from the Speaker. Mustang calls in Hawkeye to follow up on the narrowed list, knowing that Sheska, Havoc, Patterson, and Kain may be under suspicion because of actions they took during the uranium bomb plot. At this point, in his mind, the most likely suspect on the list could be one of the new bodyguards he picked up. He also assumes if one is dirty, so is the other.

Hakuro is also pressing forward with his court marshal, and suspends Edward's military privileges. Effectively, all it means is that he can't command other soldiers. He also says he knows Edward was lying, but he insinuates he doesn't care as long as the lie stands up to scrutiny. He informs Mustang he will (unfortunately) be trusting the Elrics, since they arrived AFTER the first assassination attempt, and will require Ed's full cooperation in investigating some of the students in the Academy. He also pulls rank and insists that military presence in the school be increased. Mustang agrees.

Edward is given the information discussed in Mustang's meeting with Hakuro over the phone and by a soldier. He goes to teach his last class of the day; Franklin does not show up for class. He runs into Armstrong and Olivia in the hallway – Olivia's in town for her brother's promotion.

Mustang has Al pulled from his last class, also by a soldier, for a brief meeting at HQ. He gives him the mission to investigate the five alchemists suspected on the list, including Franklin and Russell. He also has Hawkeye start her own background checks on everyone, including Sheska (who found some of the evidence). He tells Al to keep the mission secret; Hakuro's soldiers would not be subtle, but if he was, it might give these alchemists reason to trust that Al was trying to watch their back instead of turn them in.

Al returns to the school in time to catch up with Ed, telling him he's going to repair the city as usual. He's uneasy lying to Edward, and learns Franklin was not in class. He then leaves to visit Franklin's home, discovering the piece of Craege Irving Franklin has hidden there. It's miniscule but still enough to kill if swallowed.

Ed leaves school to continue his mission of cleaning up parts of the city from the feedback. He discovers an old tunnel that had been run into the ruins of Lab 5, and begins to worry that red stone may have been taken. More worryingly, he finds a chimera that has been dead only a short time. (This chimera was transmuted by Franklin to test the small amount of Red Stone he was able to find.)

Bothered enough about the piece of Irving he found, Al reports to Mustang unofficially (to protect the Prime Minister from being 'aware' of transgressions.) Mustang isn't pleased. He orders Al to perform a more complete search into Franklin Sorn, including his past and family. He also sends the military out to locate the missing young alchemist. This military order is eventually passed to Hakuro, who begins a very thorough investigation into him.

Edward suspects that Franklin Sorn may have been the one to want to mine Red Stone, and worries that those attempts to mine were why Franklin appeared to be suffering from the feedback sickness on and off since PAA:FA. He also worries the youth might have recently overdone it, which was why he missed class. He goes to Franklin's address only to find Al there, pouring over Franklin's notes. Al admits he's been ordered to investigate the boy; Ed tells him what he's found. The two immediately assume Franklin used the city's demolition as an excuse to poke around Lab 5. They find some of their own notes, completely deciphered, and a few deciphered wrongly. Some relate to their attempts at human transmutation. Some relate to the doorway Al transmuted during the Thule Invasion. Some relate to notes on the Gate. Some are math too complex for either Ed or Al to decipher without significant time. They assume he's been mining the red stone all last month, but still can't explain why he would keep a piece of Irving. While they're there, someone attempts to break in. He does not speak. They repel the attacker, who open fires with a gun, but are unable to detain them.

(From Al's POV) Ed and Al fight with giving this information to Mustang or going to handle it themselves. They decide to get more complete information before worrying Mustang. Al follows his previous orders, going to Franklin's hometown of Jannai to complete his research, while Ed (without orders) attempts to determine if Franklin is still in Central. By now it is night.

The following morning, in Jannai, Al discovers the name of the alchemist that taught Franklin, as well as the woods no one played in after forty tree-huggers went to live in the woods and were all slaughtered by some Ishbals that had hidden there after the war. The citizens do not mention the town was once called Arturu, and will refuse to discuss it or speak of it, thinking it bad luck. Al calls Fletcher in Central (knowing his brother is busy and won't be reachable by phone, and that he can't use Sheska until she's been cleared), asking him to locate Franklin's teacher while he investigates the reports of the marauding Ishbalians. At this point, Al sees Hakuro's men in the town.

Fletcher runs into Hawkeye at the library, who is doing her own research, this time with Sheska so that she doesn't know she's under investigation. He learns the sensei currently lives in Rountal and assists Sheska, learning that Patterson is under investigation and that he was born in Arturu. He also learns a few details about hometowns of Havoc, Breda (being investigated to throw suspicion off him) and Hawkeye. Sheska offers to finish up his sensei research for him, since she's doing that kind of research on others. She believes that after all her hard work, Mustang is going to fire her like Maes did to protect her from Hakuro's investigations. (Humor bit.) Fletcher reassures her that no one would ever let her go, and goes to make a phone call.

Meanwhile, the missing Franklin has been running around the city, trying to get everything in order. He knows Hakuro has been stepping up security and that he's running out of time. He meets someone who demands to know why there were strangers in his house, thus being alerted that the 'two blonde men' are either the Tringums or the Elrics, and that Mustang must have ordered them to do it. He reassures the man that everything is still according to plan, and that the information is still accurate, both for the attempt tonight and the attack on the city. He does not specify at this point which city. Once the man leaves, Franklin redons his disguise and contemplates where to go, since he obviously can't go home.

Mustang does Parliamentary things and waits for reports may meet with officials or have a scene with the Drachman ambassadors, possibly a cute heart to heart with Hawkeye, or to catch up with Breda and Kain wanting to go back on duty like they mean it.

Ed is found to be waiting once again in Franklin's home, going over the notes. He spent the day teaching his and Al's classes. He hopes that Franklin will return, not wanting to leave the piece of Irving behind before he splits town. He begins to understand the math but still doesn't know what all the variables are. Some of it relates to astronomy, some of it relates to geography, and some of it appears to simply be wrong. It appears to possibly be attempts to determine how Al opened the Gate to Earth. Ed wonders if Franklin is actually attempting to get their army to defend Central? Ed also finds an appointment scribbled down on the back of a piece of paper, and plans to go there the following morning and see if there are any clues. (The appointment is encoded, but it's easy to figure out. It's a trap for anyone perusing his notes.) Ed is confronted in the house before he can finish studying the notes by Hakuro's men, and spends the rest of the night arguing with them and Hakuro. (Because of his court marshal, he is not allowed to investigate ongoing military concerns, but he refuses to divulge what he's learned, because technically he can't be debriefed either, being a civilian.)

(Clue is a play of an abandoned storefront on Plantir and Tracer, the corner Mustang and Ed rounded to meet Craege Irving. It's a scribbled birth announcement for someone named Toman Praw, giving the time as eight am, and the day doesn't match the year. The year is the storefront address backwards, and the day and date matches the current year.)

Al has since traveled to Rountal per Fletcher's phone call, which is only an hour from Jannai, to speak with the sensei. He is a nice older man, providing letters from Franklin proving he was staying in touch with his pupil. He asks if anything is wrong; Al says with the climate of distrust in Central the Academy decided to check into the background of all the students. It is revealed that Fletcher is incredibly bright, and more powerful than the sensei. He was called 'Red Edward' when he first passed the exam because of how much he was like the famous Elrics – but now, of course, he's got his own name because he surpassed them by following the rules. The sensei seems very proud of Franklin. Al leaves to return to Jannai for sleeping before going back to Central the following morning.

An assassination of Roy Mustang is attempted. Hawkeye is forced to shoot the assassin. Olivia is with Mustang, as he is trying to get her to pretend to be his girlfriend to freak out the Drachman diplomats and get them off his back. One of the Drachman 'ambassadors' witnesses the attack, and states the dead assassin is not a Drachman. She then states she wants to leave, immediately, for Drachma. Hawkeye wonders if perhaps the Drachman ambassadors were placed to determine Mustang's security, and how their assassins were failing, to improve their chances. At this point the reader is certain Franklin gave the assassin the information necessary to get as far as they did. The assassin also makes a very stupid mistake, one that Franklin could have told him to avoid.

The following morning, Al has returned to Central. He's worried enough about what he found that he wants to report in. He meets Ed taking a shower at home, having not slept, on his way to the 'appointment' he found in Franklin's notes. The two decide to check it out together before reporting in to Mustang, and leave.

Sheska has been hard at work as well, doing all the research Hawkeye assigned her on all the others being investigated. Fletcher returns to the library after working his shift cleaning up the city (his brother relieved him) and Sheska is able to give him the information he requested. The sensei was born in Central, lived in East for a while before moving to Arturu and lived there for somewhere between four and eight years before moving to Rountal. She then mentions that he must have lived there during the plague, when the city was renamed to Jannai. Initially Fletcher doesn't think anything of it, but later remembers that Patterson was from Arturu. Interested in whether the doctor remembers this sensei, he goes to the hospital to ask.

Parliament is meeting about the assassination attempts, and urging Mustang to take action. He refuses despite the suspicious behavior of the Drachman diplomats, whom he has placed under house arrest for their own safety. He argues that this attempt was even less likely to work than the last, and that the party responsible is slipping up. He praises Hakuro for his work to uncover the plot, and Parliament for their continued patience. He promises that when the true culprit is revealed, he will respond swiftly and with appropriate military action. Olivia is seen watching him through narrowed eyes from the audience.

Ed and Al end up at the place where the appointment was, and Ed immediately suspects it was a meeting with the two guys that opened fire on them two nights ago. They are therefore cautious, but still trip boobytraps. (Franklin's specialty is transmuting things with a mechanical nature.) Both brothers are lightly injured by the equivalent of a shrapnel grenade. Edward was exhausted as it was, and seems a little more disoriented than he should be, so Al makes the executive decision they should get patched up and report back to Mustang, now believing that Franklin is deep into something that doesn't look good.

Fletcher finds Patterson in the records room, and asks him about growing up in Arturu and whether he knew Franklin or Franklin's sensei. Not suspecting anything outside of a "Hey, do you know this guy, what do you think of him?" he is caught unawares and given a paralytic that kills him. Patterson is very kind to him as he dies, but does not tell him anything more than that his death is not meaningless and that he will do everything he can to help Russell. The last things Fletcher hears are the Gate doors opening, and a giggle of recognition.

(Un-narrated at this point) Franklin entered the hospital to get rid of records of him breaking his leg badly as a kid, and being treated in Central. He is trying to hide the location of his guardians, to protect them in case he fails. He is afraid the Tringums or Elrics will catch him before he can transmute the Stone. Franklin sneaks into the Records room (near the apothecary) and witnesses Fletcher's death. As soon as Patterson leaves, Franklin uses his Stone (which he retrieved at some point) to transmutes Fletcher's soul back to his body. He has just enough Stone left over (and ingredients in the apothecary) to create a dead human body that looks exactly like Fletcher. He asks Fletcher why Patterson killed him, but Fletcher honestly has no idea. He's extremely shaken; the Gate took him but he can't remember what happened after that, only waking up on the floor seeing Franklin. Franklin convinces him to come into hiding, so they can watch Patterson and try to figure out what's going on. When Fletcher tells him what he was asking, Franklin immediately suspects that Patterson is up to something relating directly to him. When Fletcher calms down, he will come to the same conclusion. He knows at this point that Franklin has already transmuted an incomplete Stone, and probably plans to make another.

Narration continues when Ed and Al end up in the hospital, being treated by none other than Patterson. Nothing in his conversation seems any weirder than any conversation he had before. He gives them both stitches and a shot of antibiotics, then decides to keep Ed for observation for a few hours. This enrages Edward, but Patterson tells him he's not sure about the feedback issue from PAA:FA and he's not happy that Ed has been cleaning up the feedback still in the city. Al determines that Mustang can't receive his report secretly for several hours anyway, so decides to stay with his brother while Ed catches a little sleep. He calls the academy to cancel both their afternoon classes.

Russell gets off shift and heads to the Academy to meet his brother after his class. He learns that Fletcher never showed up to teach it from a student that he catches in the hall that was supposed to be in it. Curious, he stops by the office and discovers Al has already called in from the base hospital to cancel his later class as well. Suspecting that Al and Fletcher might have gotten into trouble together, Russell heads for the hospital as well. He ends up in the Elric's room, but they haven't seen Fletcher since yesterday, when Al guiltily admits that he asked Fletcher to look into something for him. Irritated that he was left out, Russell leaves it alone. The same nurse that was in Ed and Roy's room before notes that she saw him a couple hours ago, when he ducked into the Records room.

All three boys head that way (Ed points out that the nurse knew where they'd gone and he was still in the damn hospital) and they find Fletcher. Patterson was called when Ed ignored the nurse that told him to go back to his room, and enters only a few moments later, already yelling at Edward before stopping. Ed holds Russell back from performing human transmutation on the spot, and Patterson swears he will find out how Fletcher died. He has them removed from the room by soldiers if necessary.

About this time Mustang was to be briefed by Al anyway, and he is seen arriving in the hospital. He meets with Patterson very briefly, who gives him the basic rundown – it appears to be heart failure, but he'll know more once the autopsy is done. He insinuates he thinks Russell should not be left unsupervised due to the scene he saw in the room when he walked in, and Mustang immediately assumes Russ thought about attempting human transmutation. He goes to the Elrics' room, where the three are being held by a soldier, and gets an explanation. He cuts Al off as he attempts to add more information, then has Ed released to accompany Russ home. Russell protests; Mustang doesn't budge. Ed and Russ head to Russ's new place, and Al gives Mustang the further information.

Russell is extremely angry – he feels he has been left out of something and it might have had something to do with what happened to Fletcher. Edward tries to reassure him, and Russ blows up in his face. Al eventually returns and has a conversation with Russell.

The following morning, Hakuro confronts Hawkeye. He reveals that he has spoken with Franklin's sensei, who told him a State Alchemist had just spoken with him as well. He orders Hawkeye to divulge the reports – she can obey or be court marshaled. Mustang's shorter bodyguard was in the room, and notifies the larger bodyguard through a look that Mustang needs to be brought into this argument. Hakuro appeals to Hawkeye's relationship with Mustang, but she stalls. Mustang arrives in time to order her silent, then pulls Hakuro aside and divulges a good deal of the information. Hakuro immediately points out the obvious link between the investigation and Franklin's sudden disappearance, as well as the men that attacked the Elrics and the boobytrap that was set for them. They determine uneasily that Franklin has been helping someone, but they still can't agree if it's the Drachmans, Cretians, or Aerugonians. Nor can they think of a way to find them.

While Hakuro is present, Hawkeye forwards a phone call to him. It's from Patterson. He tells Mustang that the body appears clean, and it looks as though Fletcher died of heart failure, but that there are several substances that could cause that that will not show up in tests. He hesitates, and Mustang calls him on it. He tells Mustang that there's something else unusual; the body was room temperature, which would normally happen 18-24 hours after death, depending on ambient temperature. He says he can't think of any substances that would have so quickly lowered Fletcher's body temperature. He suspects foul play. This is just enough information that Mustang realizes the body could be a doll. He orders further tests (while playing directly into Patterson's hands) and suspects that Franklin may have had a hand in the death of Fletcher.

Mustang contacts the Elrics – he gives Edward complete freedom to track down Franklin by any means necessary. He has full run of Franklin's notes, contacts, everything. He orders Al to find out what Fletcher was doing in the records room, telling him that Patterson believes Fletcher's death was not accidental. Al hesitates, and asks if he has anything besides suspicions. Mustang says he will wait for their information before issuing any further orders. Ed and Al feel badly for leaving Russell unsupervised; Hakuro admits that it's unlikely Russell is involved in the scheme if his own brother has died because of it. They pull military supervision off of Russell, but Mustang orders Maria Ross to keep an eye on him.

Once the Elrics are safely on missions, Franklin's sensei comes to Russell, claiming he resurrected Franklin a month after his death. He says he needs three alchemists to perform resurrection (more would be better, but no more than three can work together well enough to accomplish their goal. The circle needs to have borders, corners, and symbols that are all divisible by three for a successful resurrection.) Because Russell was so used to working with another alchemist (his brother Fletcher) he would be an excellent replacement for the sensei's now-dead colleague. In return for help in locating his wayward apprentice before something terrible befalls him (for the sensei was already visited by Al and knows the military is looking for Franklin and it isn't good), when they find Franklin, the three of them will revive Fletcher. Suspecting the sensei to be the key to finding out what happened to his brother, Russell leaves with him. Russell leaves his wallet in the house, missing enough for train fare, as a clue to anyone that might follow. They purposefully ditch Maria. She reports back to Hawkeye immediately.

[This happens one day later. For the first day, Russell receives those wishing to pay their respects, and Blane makes the offer. Russell then ditches Maria to walk the city beneath Central, or just around Central, thinking. He returns and may be spotted by an Elric sleeping. He takes his pills haphazardly; they may be one of the clues Al uses to determine that Russ isn't out on a walk, and has actually left to go somewhere.]

Unnarrated: Due to Franklin's concerns about Patterson, Fletcher is in disguise, tailing Patterson. He sits outside the hospital until Patterson leaves to kill Mustang, and follows him.

Edward goes back to Franklin's notes, eventually deducing that the geography he was looking at matches his hometown. He is now certain that Franklin is attempting to transmute a Stone, but can't figure out the assassination angle. Why try to have Roy killed? He finds his notes on Lior and goes over them, eventually noting that Franklin seems especially centered on the idea of transmuting an army. At that point, he puts the assassination plot and the Stone somewhat together – Franklin is trying to incite a war specifically to use the attacking army as ingredients for his Stone.

Al returns to the hospital and Patterson reveals what has happened to Pinako – she fell and cracked her pelvis. She left it for a long time, which has significantly impacted their ability to get the bone back together without hugely invasive surgery, which could kill her. She is either confined to a bed for the rest of her life (no life as far as Pinako is concerned) or must undergo the risky procedure. She doesn't want an alchemist messing with her, having seen what became of Hohenheim, Tricia, and the Elrics, and would have refused the Tringums even if they'd offered. (She will later be talked out of this.)

Al goes to the records room, trying to determine what Fletcher was looking for. They assume that if Franklin killed him, it was to prevent him from finding something – a faulty assumption, but one that leads them to find what Franklin really was trying to hide – the record of his guardians. Patterson enlists Al's help in determining that the body he has of Fletcher is really a doll; Al confirms it. Patterson tells him he thinks the body must have been switched between finding Fletcher and the initial autopsy, and suggests that perhaps the killer took the remains for some reason. They report back to Mustang that the body is a doll; Mustang informs Al that Russell ditched Maria Ross an hour ago. Patterson theorizes that Russell might be attempting to resurrect his brother, or worse yet, someone else already has. At this point Al remembers that Franklin might have had some Red Stone, and is afraid Franklin might have done it to increase confusion, or to accomplish some task for him.

With no other leads, Al discovers Franklin's guardians now actually live in Central. Thinking perhaps the guardians might know where he is, Al goes to meet with them and get information. They are the first people to say anything disparaging about the sensei; for some reason Al trusts them implicitly. They give him interesting information. He spent two years with them when he had a falling out with his sensei, then a year after he went back to Blane, he certified as a State Alchemist. (Blane claimed Franklin on his taxes, so the only proof the guardians had him is the medical record.) Al is finished before lunch.

Edward immediately heads back to HQ to report to Mustang, not trusting Franklin's phone thanks to Hakuro's soldiers. Mustang agrees to see him, and Edward gives them his theory – Franklin is trying to start a war to transmute a Stone that he will use to resurrect his dead village. Everyone thinks this is a likely scenario. All suspect Russell has ditched Maria in an effort to either help Franklin transmute a Stone or to steal the finished product from him, or is working with another alchemist that might have done so. Maria is able to give a description Al matches to the sensei – they now know Russell left with him. The military begins searching for Russell Tringum. It is now 10:30.

Much later, Russell and the sensei end up in an area just outside town, waiting for a train that will take them back to Jannai. Russell notes that the sensei's fiancée has an odd bracelet; he begins to ask pointed questions. The sensei is vague about the answers, but grills him on where Franklin could be. Russell finally refuses to play along, calling the old man out. How did he know Fletcher was dead? The old man threatens the fiancée, saying he can guarantee she dies by sundown if anything happens to him. Fearing that sensei has given her a poison and must be alive to give her an antidote, Russell is effectively trapped. The sensei makes a phone call to Patterson, ordering him to kill Mustang (not in so many words.) He explains that Franklin is likely to fail at this point, but Russell is capable of transmuting a Stone, and if he's very, very good, he'll let Russell use what's left of the Stone to revive his brother.

Ed suspects, due to the geographical notes, that Franklin had special interest in Creta or Aerugo – western Amestris. He takes the next train he can in that direction, the one he and Al used to take to Creta when researching the Stone. On the train he remembers the lay of the land a little better, and starts thinking like Scar would – if he was going to transmute an army, how would he do it? He assumes from the notes that Franklin has no plans to transmute Amestrian citizens, and on the map he finds a place just west of West City that would be perfect – the plain slopes down so it would be impossible to see the array if you were approaching from the west, heading east, but it would be plainly obvious from the east side, facing west. In that way it would be easy to place the army before transmuting.

Ed reports back to Mustang when he arrives at the midway point to West City – it is now early evening. Mustang tells him to stop Franklin from transmuting the Stone, no matter what it takes. Ed correctly interprets this order to be 'Kill Franklin if necessary.' Mustang then concocts a plan to handle the army that will be arriving shortly on either West or South City's front porch, immediately summoning Olivia Armstrong.

Meanwhile, Al is assembling information and looking over Franklin's notes again. He tries to find someplace in the city the remains could have been taken or transmuted, or a Homunculus hidden, but finds nothing.

It is now early the next morning. Edward finds the place on his map, finding Franklin standing there, waiting for the army. He is just on the border with Creta. Ed can actually see the cloud that signals the approaching army, and he can see the array Franklin has built (with alchemy.) It's still the usual 6-pointed circle. He moves to destroy it; he and Franklin have a brief but vicious fight, in which Ed is able to subdue Franklin as easily as Mustang got him all those years ago. He tells Franklin he can't bring back the dead; Franklin hesitates, then tells Ed why he's transmuting the Stone. Ed points out the math is wrong - Einstein theorized such travel would create a paradox, destroying the timestream. Ed also realizes the sensei has put him up to it, and a few pointed questions reveal everything else: Franklin did not organize the first or second assassination attempts. He did, however, try to become an 'informant' for them, and by selling information, was able to determine Creta was behind the attempts. He built trust with the Cretaians, giving two assassins information that was incomplete, but good enough. The Cretian general believed his information that Drachma was about to be attacked, withdrawing forces from West City. In this way he enticed an army to his array.

Ed wonders if there was any other informant for the first assassination attempts; Franklin says he doesn't know, but he imagines there was. (Patterson and the sensei were those instigators, to plant the idea in Franklin's mind.) Franklin reveals that he suspects Patterson, but does not admit to seeing the murder or resurrecting Fletcher. About this time Ed and Franklin realize the advanced divisions are too close, and that downhill geography that would work so well for an array will not help them in the slightest. Ed makes an executive decision to try to scare the army off, now that they aren't transmuting it, to buy Mustang more time to reinforce West.

Ed and Frankin hold back the Cretian army by making them think the Amestrian army is there. Franklin transmutes things with mechanical applications; makes some machines that create dust, like approaching artillery. Franklin is revealed to have seen the Gate when he transmutes without a circle in front of Ed. At that point, Ed asks when he saw the Gate, but Franklin refuses to say. He seems very surprised; first clue that he might have actually revived Fletcher. They succeed in scaring off the advanced division, but not the force behind it. They attempt to hide, but an enemy alchemist exposes them, and they are captured. Franklin is recognized as one of their inside informants and branded a traitor, and Edward is recognized as the Fullmetal Alchemist. Franklin tells them that Amestris is expecting them, and the army is in place in West; the Cretian general (female) decides to check for herself. Both are kept alive as the army moves. Ed and Franklin slowed the army down by an entire day.

Mustang correctly guesses that West is more likely to be attacked than South, because of defenses. He has sent both Armstrongs there, and gives orders that West HQ make it appear as if they have all left; when the Cretian army crosses the border and scouts the city, it appears as if the military is indeed largely absent. He knows now that if Edward is successful, there will be a war, and victory is the only thing that will stop the downfall of Amestris. It will also solve some other problems. Mustang's seamstress comes in with two uniforms, demanding the soldiers try them on so she can make sure they lay right. (He has had his seamstress make Breda and Havoc Cretian uniforms, which she has done – extremely begrudgingly.)

Despite Franklin's protests, the general decides that his intel was actually sound. They had kept Edward as a high-value hostage in the fear they would meet the army on the border; they arrange a firing squad - the first shot of the war will be a bullet that kills a National Alchemist. While they have Edward, they attempt to beat more information regarding Amestris' defenses out of him. Edward is extremely shaken by the torture, as it reminds him of Germany, and is not his usual badass self. He does not, however, give them any information. He finally offers up some lies when they threaten to torture Franklin, and Franklin begins to see the consequences of what he's done.

Patterson makes his move to kill Mustang, but Fletcher intercepts him in HQ. It's fairly late, so there are few people in the hallway. Fletcher does not stop to chit-chat, intent on simply stopping Patterson and making sure he's captured, when Mustang, Hawkeye, and Denny round the corner. He immediately attempts to surrender, but Mustang can't be sure he isn't a Homunculus, and it appears he was attacking Patterson. Mustang snaps his fingers.

Unnarrated: Havoc and Breda infiltrate the enemy's ranks per Mustang's orders at dawn, and Havoc takes the place of one of the firing squad soldiers. He shoots on 2, not 3, grazing Ed's skull. The shot gives the appearance of shooting him in the head and killing him.

The attacking general decides to put off the battle until later in the afternoon, when the sun will be in the eyes of the defending West City. This gives Breda and Havoc just enough time to get in there. Franklin does not recognize Havoc, having not spent as much time with Mustang's men. He watches Edward get dragged out before the firing squad and believes Edward has been killed. The general keeps Franklin alive, to face his fate not as a prisoner of war, but as a traitor to the country of Creta. (Plus, he's a 'whelp.') Edward's body is slung into a cart attached to a horse, and sent into West as a declaration of war.

Franklin is beside himself. He doesn't know why the army isn't in West and believes Creta is about to take West City. He also believes Edward is dead. He was left with the base camp, and after about an hour and a half the army moves out. Very shortly, the soldier that shot Edward enters the tent. Franklin doesn't recognize Havoc and makes an ineffectual attempt to kill him, when a second solider he DOES recognize enters - Breda, to yell at them for making noise. The three of them hightail it out of the base camp, with Franklin in 'protective custody'.

Because they're facing a real army and West was only able to get its usual resident force roused, victory is not certain. Olivia is still in the process of outfitting her hidden soldiers with reflective gear and setting up her ambushes. She's on the phone with Mustang when the wagon - and the still-unconscious Edward - passes into the city. She therefore reports that Edward is dead.

Al attempts to track down Russell, fearing that Fletcher really has or will be transmuted into a Homunculus. Russell left his wallet on the table, with his cash splayed out. He normally carried the same amount of cenz, and exactly the right amount for a train ticket out of Central is missing. Al guesses they've headed for Jannai in the hopes of catching Franklin there after he makes his Stone, and just barely catches the next train, on which Russell, sensei, and the fiancée are.

Lots of battle with the Cretian army. Things aren't going as well as the Cretians had hoped, but the Amestrian forces are taking heavy losses. The two female generals note one another on the battlefield, and head toward each other.

Mustang is in the process of reinforcing the West as best he can, but it was too difficult to send an entire army as quickly as he was able to dispatch the four soldiers. He didn't really burn Fletcher to death; just his arm, to see if he healed it. It's still a bad burn, and Fletcher is in a lot of pain. (This was to encourage the Homunculus to heal it, if the healing was something they controlled rather than a symptom of the Red Stones.) He had the man stripped to determine there was no tattoo, but how to check for a soul? Fletcher has told him what he knows, which fits the timeline, and Mustang leaves him alive to watch Hakuro interrogating Patterson. Fletcher is bound in the normal way alchemists are held, and Brosh is assigned to him.

Al finds Russell and sensei on the train, and initially believes Russell left willingly. Sensei orders Russell to protect him; knowing the girl will get it if he doesn't, he moves to do so. During the fight, as soon as the sensei is out of earshot, Russell gives Al the information he needs. He suspects the bracelet is the problem, and given the intricate design, he suspects that much tampering will set it off. Al agrees to take on the sensei if Russ can handle the bracelet – he agrees. Al asks Russ about Fletcher – Russ is shocked to learn the body was a doll., and says he didn't take the remains. Al then fears Franklin or the sensei transmuted the remains into a Homunculus with the Red Stone he took from Lab 5 to cause further chaos. At this point both believe he is still dead.

The two generals meet. Olivia takes some damage but defeats the other general, actually cutting off her head and tossing it over her shoulder by the hair, walking back across the battlefield towards West City. This single act significantly weakens the attacking Creta, and they are repelled.

Al and Russ fight the sensei. Russ is able to remove the bracelet, and once that's done Al makes short work of the sensei. The sensei laughs and says he transmuted Fletcher's body into a Homunculus as a distractionary technique. Al is barely able to prevent Russell from killing sensei; sensei nearly escapes but is stopped by Russell and Al.

[Edward wakes up in the battle infirmary in West, sunburned and with a throbbing skull. He is extremely relieved that all is well, and sees that Franklin has already started withdrawing.] Possibly changed.

Al and Russ return to Central before Ed et al, and Mustang once more tries to get Al away from Russell. This time Russ is FURIOUS, and flatly refuses to be left out. Mustang caves, and takes them to Fletcher's cell. He asks Al how risky transmuting a piece of his soul into a Homunculus would be, and whether it's a good test. Al tests by trying to put a piece of his soul into Russell, who is willing to be experimented on. He is unable; no room for a piece of his soul. They weight the risk of possibly getting a piece of his soul permanently trapped by the Red Stone that might be inside Fletcher. Al is willing to take the risk, and they determine that Fletcher is really Fletcher.

Mustang and Parliament draw up documents accepting the surrender of Creta. They detain the diplomats sent by Creta, and give them Mustang's ultimatum – you can fully surrender to Amestris, or you will be annexed. Drachma is satisfied that its name has been cleared, and pulls its diplomats. Ed is fully recovered. Fletcher, mostly healed by his brother, explains what happened, asking about the Gate. The four uneasily wonder if the Gate has taken a special interest in them, or it merely knew that one of them would come for him just as they had come for Ed.

Mustang makes a note that the supposed Stone Central has left over from the Irvings can be explained away as being used when Ed held back the Cretian army. He also notes that would be a good reason to explain the arm and leg coming back – that he either was wounded in combat and forced to heal himself, accidentally growing back the arm and leg too, or it was used by Al to resurrect him. Ed fights with losing this last link to Winry – Al tells him to accept it, because it signifies the end of their old relationship and without that last crutch maybe they'll finally get over themselves. No one knew he had it on when he was seen in West besides the doctor, who would be sworn to secrecy. None of the soldiers that saw him with or without it in Creta are still alive.

Franklin is being held for treason. Fletcher notes that Franklin didn't have to do what he did, begging for clemency for Franklin. Franklin refuses to speak a word in his defense, refuses to eat, refuses to meet anyone's eyes. It is insinuated that he has even been beaten or worse by the soldiers that held him until Hawkeye puts a swift and angry stop to it. (Redeem Hakuro for Rose's pregnancy) Franklin confides in her, demonstrating to her that he is truly sorry for what he's done to her satisfaction.

At this point Riza and Mustang have a conversation regarding Franklin. It's obvious Hawkeye thinks of him as a child, and relates him to Edward. Mustang brings up the Drachmans telling him he needed a wife, and Parliament as well. Mustang feels that he's finally solidified his position. Amestris is officially stable at this time, and will be gaining territory to boot. Drachma is happy to leave them the hell alone and Aerugo won't touch them at present, after the crushing defeat of the Cretians. He finally feels that he can relax enough to do something he's waited a long time to do – begin dating girls he actually likes. He points out he will probably have to fire her to break the tension; there's no need for her to protect him anymore, after all, he's at the top. She points out she'll never stop protecting him, or their five kids. Mustang is unable to tell if she's joking or not, and she leaves the room to continue working.

The sensei owns up to only the parts of the story they can guess; he is quickly convicted of treason and sentenced to death. Patterson is held, admits to everything including the first assassination attempts, and asks for a death sentence if it means Franklin will be spared. Hakuro wants him executed for treason; Mustang fights for life imprisonment instead because of the circumstances of his sister. He commits suicide by the end of the fic to eliminate the issue, saying that his death is not meaningless (echoing what he told Fletcher when he killed him.)

When Patterson commits suicide, Franklin breaks loose and attempts to perform the same transmutation without the Stone, to try to undo one of the deaths he caused, but is talked out of this by the Elrics, who point out it would 'be meaningless.' In the end, he is pardoned, because he's still underaged and the damage he caused can be pinned to the other two, one dead and the other being executed by the State. He also saved the life of an alchemist that would otherwise have died, and heroically attempted to hold back an entire army almost single-handedly. If not for the stand he and Ed made, West would have fallen. However, Mustang makes it painfully clear that he betrayed all of them, and he will have to earn back their trust the hard way. He also pretty much assigns the kid to Edward, as payback for all the shenanigans he pulled.

Ed temporarily weasels out of this because he technically is still on trail for desertion. Hakuro makes a note to have the charges dropped.

THE END.

Notes:

In reality, Franklin did not use it. He's been saving it for a rainy day, on the off chance his real Stone cannot be transmuted, and he planned to use Craege's remains for an extra boost of alchemic power for his test Stone if his large array failed.

Franklin's grand plan is to lure the Cretian army to his array to transmute them into a Stone. He has fooled them into thinking that Central has pulled Olivia from Braggs to bring her into the plot to quietly defeat Drachma, and that the armies will be in the north and not on the western border. However, there is a decent army stationed in West. Franklin is counting on this, to ensure that if the army gets past his array for any reason, Amestris won't actually be overwhelmed.

Franklin is at the core of the assassination plots - has been planning all along to make it appear that Cretia has been framing Drachma and is actually the one behind the attmepts. This is backed up by Olivia when she goes to Central for her brother's ceremony - the Drachmans can't have been responsible.

Franklin's sensei comes to Russell, says he resurrected Franklin a month after his death. He says he needs three alchemists to perform resurrection (more would be better, but no more than three can work together well enough to accomplish their goal. The circle needs to have borders, corners, and symbols that are all divisible by three for a successful resurrection.) Because Russell was so used to working with another alchemist (his brother Fletcher) he would be an excellent replacement for the sensei's now-dead colleague. In return for help in locating his wayward apprentice before something terrible befalls him (for the sensei was already visited by Al and knows the military is looking for Franklin and it isn't good), when they find Franklin, the three of them will revive Fletcher. In this way, Russell 'disappears' so the prevailing theory that Russell is now trying to help Franklin transmute a Stone, transmute his own, or steal the one Franklin is suspected of wanting to transmute, seems more likely.

In actuality, Russell knows damn well that no one can bring back the dead, because he's seen what the Elrics can do, and if it could be done, Trisha Elric would be alive and well. He suspects that this man will lead him to the reason his brother was killed (at this point he begins to accept that Fletcher really is dead) and for this reason leaves without burying his brother, knowing he will be buried with full military honors and justifying it as something Fletcher would want. He was already allowed to 'say goodbye' by Patterson and the Elrics when the body was found. Because of his not close relationship with his mother, we can justify that he doesn't put much stock into funerals anyway. He will admit he did not attend Edward's or Alphonse's.

While the sensei takes Russell into hiding, Patterson determines that the remains that were found when the Elrics and Russell found Fletcher are a doll. His own tests have also determined that there is no food in the digestive tract, no callouses, and no scars. He must make Mustang think that Fletcher is a Homunculus, in case he goes to the military for help. It also becomes his job to find Fletcher as quickly as possible, to kill him again.

Fletcher goes to Patterson after he is walking Sheska out of the library and she mentions that Arturu was renamed to Jannai after the plague that wiped out nearly all the villagers. This link is important because it means that Patterson might have known the sensei. Fletcher goes to him to ask if he knew the sensei and what kind of guy he was. He doesn't realize that this link might mean more than a coincidence, but Patterson, knowing that Franklin's plan is about to be completed, kills him to slow the investigation.

The sensei worked with the local doctors to find the 'cure' for the plague. He was experimenting with bio-alchemy, trying to find a way to infect the body with a virus that would unnaturally extend life. He was specifically looking for a virus that infected the most number of cells the quickest, making the plague extremely deadly very quickly, but it wasn't particularly contagious. Once nearly all the adults were wiped out (most actually dosed with the virus while being told they were receiving treatments to keep them healthy) he 'magically' cured them, which floored Franklin the same way Izumi appealed to the Elrics. It is also the reason Patterson feels loyalty towards sensei, and became a doctor.

The sensei wants the Stone to elongate his own life.

Fletcher acts as Franklin's ace in the hole, appearing at an opportune time to save the day (using alchemy.) He is suspected of being a Homunculus, obviously, and is nearly killed. Fletcher is able to prove his humanity by demonstrating that he does not have an Ourbourous tattoo, and Al confirms he has a soul because he is not able to put a piece of his soul into Fletcher (which he hypothesizes could be done with a Homunuculus.) Or Ed could detect that Fletcher actually had a soul.

Timeline by character:

Patterson – lived in Franklin's hometown. Has one surviving sister; this sister is currently 'engaged' to the sensei as a younger woman. She will be killed or otherwise harmed if Patterson does not further sensei's wishes to his satisfaction. At first Patterson was as enthralled with sensei as Franklin was – he saved the town. Because of the plague, Patterson became a doctor. Sensei asked him to help Franklin along, and Patterson believed that alchemists really could travel back in time, just like Franklin did. It was one of the reasons he's so good with alchemists – he studied them as a curiosity in medical school, as well as automail, another curiosity.

When he discovered in his own studies what sensei had done, he confronted the man (bad idea) and his sister was taken as insurance. Since then, Patterson has been attempting to prevent any link between him and the sensei to be discovered, which is why he killed Fletcher. He knew the sensei's plan was about to come to fruition (now betraying Franklin rather than helping him) but could see no other way. He believed he could get the Stone away from sensei and back to Franklin, so that Franklin could undo all the evil they'd done.

When sensei realized Franklin was going to be stopped, he orders Patterson to kill Mustang in order to incite multiple armies to attack Amesris. He goes to do so, being intercepted by none other than Fletcher in the capitol building. Fletcher is able to incapacitate him easily, not killing him because he knows full well he will be suspected of being a Homunculus and needing Patterson to explain his side of the story, which at this point no one knows but Al and Russell. Patterson is held, admits to everything including the first assassination attempts, and asks for a death sentence if it means Franklin will be spared. Hakuro wants him executed for treason; Mustang fights for life imprisonment instead. He commits suicide by the end of the fic to eliminate the issue, saying that his death is not meaningless (echoing what he told Fletcher when he killed him.)

Sensei – Trying to live forever. Uses bio-alchemy, the Tringums' specialty, to try to further his life. Uses the children that adored him in the village he almost wiped out, until Patterson figures out that sensei was responsible for his parents' deaths. He kidnaps Patterson's sister, taking her as a fiancée as an insurance policy and forcing Patterson to keep working for him. He also uses Franklin's knowledge of the affairs of Central to hire assassins from Creta to frame Drachma, trying to take out Mustang. At this point, he doesn't care if they succeed or not.

He tells Franklin his dearest dream would be to go back in time and see his own daughter again, who died before the Ishbal massacre during childbirth. Both her and the baby died. He tells Franklin no one can bring back the dead, but he wonders if it would be possible to somehow save them. Franklin is blinded with respect, and tries his best to make his aging sensei's wish come true. In this way sensei is able to easily manipulate the boy.

Franklin excels, and sensei gives him a wider and wider leash. He helped Franklin transmute a Stone out of forty people but assumes Franklin used that Stone when he was able to perform amazing alchemy to become a State Alchemist, a year before Ed and Al returned to Amestris. He knew it was incomplete and small, and he knew that it bothered Franklin. He knows that as Franklin grows older it will be harder to keep controlling him, and when Parliament is in the act of trying to regroup and have a Prime Minister, he chooses the candidate he feels will be more likely to act rashly – the younger one. That candidate was Roy Mustang.

When Roy takes the seat and does NOT retaliate for the assassination attempts, sensei grows impatient. However, Franklin latches onto the idea of transmuting an attacking army, having learned that it happened in Lior by translating the Elrics' notes. He mentions to sensei that the political atmosphere is tense, and sensei manipulates him to choose an army to transmute – the Cretians, the ones sensei originally approached. Franklin is able to give them better information. However, sensei is beginning to suspect Franklin is starting to have doubts.

He praises Patterson for getting an in with the State Alchemists, making him get closer to Roy Mustang. When both State Alchemists and soldiers appear at his door, he realizes he must act or his plans will fall apart. Patterson tells him he was forced to kill Fletcher Tringum; sensei orders him to use it as a distraction from Franklin to buy them more time, thus the Homunculus plot. He approaches Russell Tringum, knowing the distraught man is also powerful enough to transmute a Stone, and offers to give him back his brother if he'll help to find Franklin. In reality, all he wants is Tringum out of Central, and to cause more distraction.

Russell is not as easily fooled as sensei had hoped, but is quickly silenced with the same threat that keeps Patterson in line; Patterson's sister. Sensei has created a bio-bomb that will kill her if not treated with a substance every eight or so hours, and is extremely unstable; any attempt to transmute it without previously knowing its complex structure will cause it to explode. This prevents anyone from getting it off her, killing him, or kidnapping her. Under this threat, Russell has no choice but to remain with the old alchemist. He is able to leave enough clues that Al is able to track them down, catching them during a train switch. Al handles the sensei; Russell saves the girl. At this point, Al tells Russell that the body in the hospital is a doll; the sensei laughs and says he transmuted it into a Homunculus, again, as a distractionary technique. Al is barely able to prevent Russell from killing sensei; sensei nearly escapes but is stopped by Russell and Al.

The sensei is taken to Central, forced to confess, and is executed for treason by the end of the fic.

Franklin: Unlike Ed, Franklin was able to kill strangers to transmute a Stone, for the purposes of practice, so he could transmute another to save his village. He justified the deaths as undoable, because when he was able to go back in time he would save his village and never become a State Alchemist, never need a Stone, and never kill them. His sensei had a lot to do with this.

His entire family, including an older brother, die during the plague. He is adopted by his guardians, and fixates on the man that prevented everyone else from getting sick. This man realizes he's talented in alchemy and helps him, even telling him alchemy will one day allow him to travel in time.

The young boy then decides to go back in time and save his family, since no one can bring back the dead. He spends every waking moment learning all sciences, all alchemy, all math, applying it towards this goal. Eventually he comes up with a time travel theory – when he returns he'll be five, but he can take materials back with him. He'll appear where his five year old self is, but in clothes far too big for him, with the cure. He believes he can transmute the matter with him in the timestream. In that way, there's no parallel world he can destroy – he can actually alter his own timeline. His belief that time travel can be achieved is strengthened when Ed and Al return, because it proves his parallel world theory, which is required for time travel to work. Everything he does toward that goal therefore has no consequences.

Once he hears about the attempted assassinations, he begins to wonder if he can't use the political climate to force a specific army into attacking Amestris, thus giving him everything he needs not only to make the country safer but to get his Stone. He continues to believe that he will succeed, thanks to the praise he receives as a State Alchemist, being compared to Edward Elric, who was able to do the impossible. He learns how to offer up information and eventually (with the help of his sensei) becomes a trusted informant of Creta. He gives information for two of the assassination attempts, and then leads Creta to believe that Amestris is going to attack Drachma. Olivia Armstrong's appearance in Central for her brother's promotion backs this up, and Creta moves in on West.

He begins to realize something is wrong before the beginning of the fic, mostly due to the rushed tone of things and the fact that he knew nothing about the assassination attempt that occurred before the city was attacked by the Irvings. Creta is getting tired of waiting for Mustang to declare war. They decide to off him for good, and lean on Franklin for better information. He knows he can't continue giving the info without getting Mustang killed, but he keeps reminding himself that even if somehow Roy is killed, it won't happen once he transmutes the Stone. He must accomplish this above all else now, because the plans he (and his sensei) put into motion are too big to stop at this point.

Franklin specifically checks to make sure West's defenses are up to par, but they are only as good as peacetime defenses. He writes a brief letter to Hakuro as a 'concerned citizen,' suggesting Creta will invade, but that letter is actually misplaced by the military and found after the events in West. He does his best to prevent Ed from stopping him, but in the end, he is beaten, and Edward suggests facing the oncoming army – facing the consequences, if you will. He sees the wisdom in Ed when they are exposed by the enemy alchemist, and Ed surrenders. He sees the courage in Ed, when he's being beaten. He sees Ed face his execution angrily, never giving an inch and never really giving up. It teaches him that he can't do the impossible, because he's not Edward. He realizes his own deep selfishness too late, and it shatters and disgusts him.

He does not recognize Havoc when he and Breda come to rescue him, and once he is rescued he's heartbroken. He refuses to eat, and is too ashamed to meet anyone's eyes, let alone respond to them. He can think of no way to atone for what he's done. When Patterson commits suicide, he considers performing the same transmutation without the circle, to try to undo one of the deaths he caused, but is talked out of this by the Elrics, who point out it would 'be meaningless.' In the end, he is pardoned, because he's still underaged and the damage he caused can be pinned to the other two, one dead and the other being executed by the State. However, Mustang makes it painfully clear that he betrayed all of them, and he will have to earn back their trust the hard way. He also pretty much assigns the kid to Edward, as payback for all the shenanigans he pulled.

-- Left to be done

- Mustang and Hakuro have conversation re: Edward and Hawkeye

Pinako makes her decision

Franklin at trial with Madelyne and Dolph Price - Al must be present waiting to collect Russell for Pinako's surgery

Pinako's surgery - during which Ed and Al have heart to heart

Mustang and Hawkeye have convo

Trial wraps ups - Al confirms the Prices will be keeping an eye on Sorn

Pinako is on her way home - Ed and Win talk - Win offers him armor

Ed goes to court martial

Al goes to court martial

Ed and Al meet with Roy - he assigns Sorn to Ed, Hakuro promotes him to lieutenant colonel

-x-

**Author's Notes**: And that, folks, is where we ended up! But when I wrote this I didn't have my timelines quite right, so there wasn't enough time for Win to present Ed with new armor. Oh well. I guess that'll be a short for Odds Without Ends. ; )


	45. Deleted Scenes

DELETED SCENES:

The stump-like woman behind the round Admitting desk gave him an approving sort of look.

"I wondered when we'd see you again."

She might not even know his name; the first and only two times he'd been an official patient in the hospital he'd been admitted while unconscious. And he had no doubt he wasn't the only automail-beaing patient they had. True, he was the only State Alchemist that was also an automail user, but he hadn't had to flash that credential. He'd simply asked to see Dr. Patterson.

That was probably a clue, though. Doc Patterson had been keeping the alchemists under a close eye, and while usually Ed simply bypassed Admitting altogether and went to the doctor's office directly, he knew better than to do so unannounced. It would be rude, and he was here to ask a favor, not to get stuck with another needle full of 'vitamins and something I cooked up in medical school.'

Though that was probably going to be unavoidable. Payment for the favor; the doc was learning all about 'equivalent exchange' and he was starting to apply what he'd learned.

She was looking him up and down, but he knew for a fact the only damage she could see was what appeared to be a slight sunburn on his face. He was wearing gloves, and his slightly shorter hair was still managing to do a decent job of hiding the blisters on his ears. Outside of what appeared to be trimmed eyebrows, he probably looked completely fine.

Of course, he was completely fine. Outside of a little headache and a lot of cussing in the shower, he was relatively unscathed. He'd lived through worse at half this age. At least Ms. Dueys hadn't ladled out the concern in front of that soldier; Hakuro was probably pissed enough that he still hadn't reported to give his account of the event last night.

Hadn't had time. He'd fallen asleep at Franklin's, and had woken with just enough time to hire a cab home, shower, throw on some clothes, and squeak into his nine o'clock class. He doubted the younger alchemist had been home while he'd slept, though; after Al had left he'd set a series of silent little traps throughout the house. An intruder wasn't likely to notice an index card falling to the floor behind them, but Ed would see the evidence. He'd done it as a precautionary measure in case he'd run out of time in the morning, but when he'd woken they'd all still been set.

They'd also let him know if Franklin – or someone else – had made a trip through the house while he was here or taking care of covering their classes.

"I'll need you to sign the following forms." Her voice brought him back from his musings, and a short, round arm offered a clipboard that was trembling under the weight of the solidified wood pulp clamped in its overstuffed metal clip.

Edward just stared at it. "I'm not checking in."

She didn't lower the clipboard, but her expression became slightly less friendly. "This is from the last two visits. Some of the forms are duplicates, in which case we only need one copy-"

The State had paid for his health care both times, and he'd just assumed they'd completed the required forms as well. Apparently not. And that she'd had it all together, waiting for him-

"I'll pick them up on my way out."

She gave him a toady smile. "I'm afraid Dr. Patterson is going to be indisposed until these forms have been signed."

Pushy broad.

He shrugged, hiding the wince that scraping his still-sore skin on the fabric of his shirt caused, and walked past her into the hospital proper. He could hear her picking up the phone, but she didn't follow him.

It wasn't the same building as it had been when he'd been a child. This wasn't necessarily a new building, either; if he had to guess he'd say it had once been administrative offices that had been renovated. The four story structure was quite nice, with wide, airy hallways and windows wherever they could be squeezed in. Medical advances in the last six or so years had certain been a driving factor in the changes. Some of the German hospitals had been much like this one, though it was obvious Europe was still far ahead, as far as the science of health was concerned.

There were more people, after all. And many more legal experiments performed to tell them the limits of the human body and mind-

With a frown he stepped into the elevator, pressing the thick, black button marked '3' in silver lettering. Just the reminder of where he was going shot an ache through his right shoulder, and he shifted it absently within the armor. It would probably hurt him for years to come. The scars on his back now were minimal, a testament to the doctor's skill, but there was nothing more he could do about the bone damage Ed had suffered at the hands of Craege Irving.

There wasn't much Patterson could do about the other, either. Despite the various solutions the doc had injected into him or made him swallow, the tightness he felt while transmuting hadn't changed. Whether it was an inner Gate or not, it seemed to be far out of the reach of Amestrian medicine.

And that was fine.

The doors parted on the third floor and he stepped out. Because Patterson had been only a first year when he'd originally been given the dubious task of assessing the unknown injuries of a highly classified patient, the fact that he'd almost instantly become the Full Metal Alchemist's physician of choice had given the doctor no small amount of fame. That had been compounded when he'd been allowed to treat the Prime Minister, mostly because the two of them had been brought into the clinic at the same time. Now he was officially the Prime Minister's personal physician as well, and as such, times when he could be caught cooling his heels in his office were long past.

Without getting the okay from the lovely woman in Admitting, Ed was risking knocking on the door and interrupting a meeting with who knew who. He doubted the doctor would disapprove of the interruption, but if he was meeting with one of the generals . . .

If they could, actually. Since he wasn't technically ranked anymore, but was still a State Alchemist, he wasn't sure whether he was a civilian or not.

-x-

"You can't use someone else's tax ID number," Sheska reprimanded him, more sharply than before. "You'll be asked for identification before the record will be pulled for you."

5289754 . . . Fletcher tried to hide a grin. Sometimes Sheska forgot they were alchemists. If they couldn't pull and reform the ink on a State ID, what good were they? Though he supposed that was a lot easier for him and Russ than it was for other alchemists, who hadn't studied the exact composition of paper and most other plant substances.

Of course, he was pretty well known here. He'd have to find a reference librarian who didn't know him. Or he'd have to use Al's rank, which the younger Elric had requested he not do unless everything else failed.

"Mr. Tringum." Now it was very firm, and he stopped his forward progress, giving Sheska a pleading look.

"I just need an address-"

"Then tell me the tax ID number."

He stared at her, somewhat surprised. "Uh . . ." Al had said he'd not asked Sheska because she was busy, but if she was offering, would it be okay? "You're really busy, sergeant-"

"You'll just have to help me with the other boxes then."

-x-

It looked like he wouldn't be allowed that luxury, after this. Four uniformed men in his wing . . . the Parliament wasn't going to let him shrug this attempt off. And the Drachman accent-

He could set off an explosion above them, but the hideous and more importantly dense plaster designs decorating the ceiling would be the equivalent of really brittle shrapnel. He didn't want to take down the ambassador with the assassins.

"How dare you impersonate my countrymen!" The voice was fierce, and obviously belonged to Ambassador Agata. "Unhand me at once, scum!"

The gunfire stopped at the same time a scream cut the air. A feminine one.

Damn. The Drachman ambassador. She'd ducked down that hallway-

"Release your hostage and surrender." Armstrong's voice was clear and authoritative. "Otherwise you will die."

"We need one alive!" he bellowed the reminder, reviewing the brief glimpse he'd gotten of their positions mentally before he snapped again. Behind him there was more gunfire, still automatic, and a shout of pain. Chunks of jade rained down onto his shoulderpads, and Mustang swore again, this time peering around the opposite side of the pillar.

Bingo. He'd made the second explosion smaller, but almost overhead. It had knocked all three of them to the ground, which was regrettable, but it hadn't been strong enough – or hot enough – to do much damage.

What it did give him was an opportunity to get the ambassador away from them.

She was struggling beneath one of the man, who was bleeding heavily from a gash across the top of his head. The plaster, he realized with a start. There were heavy, circular plaster decorations on the ceilings, and sizable chunks

With four, their chances of actually capturing one of these bastards was pretty good. But he couldn't be certain Armstrong would let hers live.

However, she wasn't in a great position to turn to tables, either, so he lit the 'enlisted' man's right ear on fire.

As soon as the man flinched, howling, he returned his attention to his own set of attackers and set off a third explosion, fairly high in the air over their last position. Then he peeked around the opposite side of the pillar.

They were down.

"We won't stop!" He turned to glare at the man shouting, now on his knees and firmly restrained by the colonel. She had been disarmed, and her firearm lay several yards away. She couldn't easily release the man to fetch it, so he raised his glove in warning.

"Move and burn."

"We will keep coming and coming until you're dead!" the man spat, his accent heavily Drachman. "You will beg for mercy as you die!"

Riza shook her head, ever so slightly. She didn't want to release him, even to get her gun. He glanced at the two down the hall; still not moving.

Damn. Had he killed them? He'd set the last explosion high, it should have driven them to the ground but nothing more –

"They're not very durable," Olivier observed, toeing her opponent. His eyes were open but blank, and he wasn't moving. "It appears I overdid it. My apologies, Prime Minister."

Only after she turned in disgust did he see she had her left hand pressed to her side. It was difficult to tell, with her thicker uniform, whether or not she was bleeding.

Riza's man was continuing to spit vitriol so she struck him on the back of the neck, catching him by the hair as his frame suddenly relaxed.

"Minister!"

They all turned at the call, unsurprised to see Goodman and Brooks had managed to get quite near the party without making a good deal of noise. He'd left them in his main offices when he and Olivier had decided to go for a walk, considering Brooks was one of the few staff Hakuro was investigating that had any chance of all at actually being a double agent. He hadn't wanted the man to hear what the Major General had to say.

It looked like he wouldn't be allowed that luxury, after this. Four uniformed men in his wing . . . the Parliament wasn't going to let him shrug this attempt off. And the Drachman accent-

At least they had one alive, at any rate. Riza was juggling her unconscious burden but Goodman was moving to help her, and Roy stepped away from the podium, barely noticing the pieces of jade under his feet as he advanced on the other two.

One was clearly unconscious, and the reason was clear; part of the round plaster design on the ceiling had come off, probably with great speed, and gashed his head pretty deeply. The second man, however, didn't appear badly injured –

"Prime Minister!"

He glanced up to see the same sheer dress he'd gotten a glimpse of before, and found that one of the Drachman ambassadors was clinging to the corner of the hallway she'd turned down only minutes ago, covering her mouth with one hand. Her eyes were on the two men, and he frowned, moving quickly to block her view.

"Please, Ambassador Agata. Are you injured?"

-x-

He tapped his cheekbone again, firmly, but had much the same result as the last time.

It was still numb.

Damn.

Edward Elric slumped back against the bricks, ignoring the curious look he was getting from the MP standing guard. He was tempted to tell the soldier that he was a civilian, and being held under military guard without being placed under arrest was illegal, but the weight on his right thigh was reason enough for the man to be present.

Besides, there was no real reason to protest. He was leaving them alone, at least until one of two things happened. And Edward was reasonably sure the ambulance would be arriving before Hakuro could possibly show.

Or Mustang, come to think of it. He supposed it was possible he'd want to cover this up, considering there was no doubt the trap had been laid by Sorn. He might already be sending Falman or Fuery to pick them up.

Either way, they were making a stop at the hospital first.

A slow grin spread across Ed's lips as he imagined the looks of shock on their faces, their mouths hanging open as he made that announcement. His face twinged slightly, and he brought up his left hand again, tapping experimentally.

Nothing.

He'd really done a number on it this time.

"Stop doing that," a thick voice slurred, from somewhere in the vicinity of his lap. "S'bad for the nerves."

"You're bad for the nerves," he growled in reply, halfheartedly glaring down at his little brother to hide his relief. Alphonse's head was propped up on his leg, elevated to lessen the strain on his injuries, and the extra seven or so inches of height he had looked even longer stretched out on the sun-warmed concrete. "How do you feel?"

His brother's eyes were only half-open, in protest of the sunlight streaming down. "Pretty crappy," he admitted. "Are we still alive?" Then he coughed.

Edward shifted slightly, glaring at the MP until he took the hint and wandered a couple feet away. "Last I checked." He didn't want to even think about the last time he'd checked, crawling on his hands and knees on the shifting ground, trying not to vomit, working his way towards the shadowed, misshapen heap that was his brother's form-

"That's nice," Al murmured, closing his eyes. He deepened his breathing a little, and coughed again. "Ugh. Tastes like dust."

That was no surprise, considering how much they'd both inhaled. The coughs weren't deep, probably nothing to worry about. "Don't move around too much."

"Wasn't planning to." He left his eyes closed, but he was obviously still awake. "S'what happened?"

Edward sighed, his ears perking up as a new siren cut faintly through the ringing sound. "Springs."

Al's eyebrow quirked, though his eyes stayed resolutely shut. "Mm."

"Rows of them. They caught the hallway floor about forty feet down." Just like a giant box-spring, the collection of steel coils had turned a forty foot fall - a potentially fatal one - into one that only injured them. And that array of springs, coupled with the complex mechanism of gears he'd gotten a glimpse of, left no doubt as to who had created it.

"Great." Al took another deep breath, then shifted his back marginally and grimaced. "Ow."

"Should have transmuted your coat, idiot."

"I figured I was only going to fall one story," he retorted, a little grouchily. "My shoulder hurts."

"You dislocated it."

"My ears are ringing, too."

Edward let his head fall back against the brick behind him and listened to the ambulance getting steadily closer. "No they're not."

Al's neck shifted slightly on his leg, and his brother inhaled sharply. "Yes, they are."

Ed picked his head back up to stare at his brother, whose eyes were once again open, a little wider this time. So his neck was bothering him. "That annoying metallic school bell sound?"

"That'd be the one."

He gestured towards the top of the building. "It's actually there. Went off as soon as the floor fell away." Or, at least, as soon as he'd regained consciousness. He'd thought the same thing, that it was from the concussion, until he'd gotten them outside and found it was quite a bit louder.

He'd also found it had attracted the attention of the local business owners and law enforcement. Showing them his watch had then summoned the nearest MP as well as an ambulance.

Edward had relocated Al's shoulder on the spot, but he wasn't sure that was the only thing wrong with him. His unarmored fingers weren't working too well; none of him was, really. He couldn't trust his sense of touch at the moment, which was one of the reasons he kept tapping his face. It felt funny.

He was hoping that was because of nerve shock he received at impact, rather than because his face was that messed up. It could explain all the curious looks he'd gotten . . . but then again, he already knew his face was bleeding. Maybe he'd just broken his nose.

His cheekbones felt like they were in the right spots, after all. He didn't really think he'd damaged his actual skull. But the ache behind his eyes was definitely familiar. He was certain he'd aggravated his already-present concussion, and could look forward to several days of light sensitivity and occasional dizziness.

"An alarm?" Al squinted up again, as if trying to make out the little bell, still steadily ringing away. "Why . .. ?"

"To let someone know the trap had been sprung, I'd guess." That was the only logical conclusion. The 'walls' of the hallway had continued down unbroken those forty feet, so that the hallway floor had fallen as a single slab into what was essentially a deep trench. Even though the springs acted as shock absorbers, the fall had still knocked Al unconscious as well as injured him. A non-alchemist would not have been able to crawl out again. And if Sorn really had split town, setting off an alarm with the trap was the only way to guarantee anyone would think to check the building out before the victims died either of their injuries or starvation.

And that, at least, was a small comfort. It meant Sorn wasn't out to kill anyone. Even if his enemies were.

"You land on your face?"

Ed scowled. Why was Al always tactful with everyone but him? "How bad is it?"

"Not so bad, if you'd actually try to look pleasant."

He simpered, surprised when that made it twinge more strongly, and began gently exploring again.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Al." Unlike his brother, he hadn't free-fallen the entire distance. "I caught up with the ladder on the way down."

"With your face?"

Edward seriously considered hitting him. He'd made a grab for the lip of the ceiling when the floor had given, but his armor wasn't automail; there was room inside the metal for his fingers to slide a little. He hadn't had the strength to cling by his fingertips, and had fallen. It had been a simple transmutation to lengthen the falling ladder and jam it between the walls, and while he hadn't managed to catch himself completely, he'd at least slowed himself down.

"No, my face is thanks to you." Because the hallway floor was on springs, and was also a solid piece of wood, not only did it give, it produced a see-saw effect. Al had impacted first, and Ed had badly misjudged where the floor was, since it was on the bounce back up when he hit it. He'd braced his left leg armor to take the impact, but hit bottom a hell of a lot sooner than he'd expected, and the braced armor had sent his weight forward.

At least, that was what he assumed happened. All he really remembered was complete surprise followed by the realization that it was really dark and his face was numb. By the time he'd located his brother, treated him, and transmuted them out of the building, around thirty minutes had gone by.

"Oh," Al murmured, though his voice was not at all apologetic. "What's the other ringing?"

"Ambulance." It was quite loud now; he expected it around the corner any minute.

His brother squinted up at him, suddenly alert. "Nii-san?"

"It's for you, idiot."

Al's eyes widened a moment before he relaxed again. "Oh," he repeated, and then wiggled his legs. "I don't feel that bad . . ."

"How's your neck?" That was the one thing he was worried about, that Al had reinjured his spine. He'd complained of pain ever since he'd been buried alive, five months ago, during his encounter with Craege Irving. Ed had still gone ahead and propped his brother up against his leg to ease his shoulder as well as keep the neck relatively still, but he was afraid even this position was pulling at it.

"Okay," he replied, turning his head slightly back and forth. "A little stiff, though."

"Well, try not to move around," Ed repeated, watching the large, mostly-white automobile cruising up the alley that ran along the back of the building.

"Nii-san."

He looked back down; Al was using his serious voice.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Edward frowned at him. "I'm sure." Why? Did he really look that bad?

"Then why are you still here?"

Edward stared at him for a moment, then grimaced. Al was right. It was too late to run; Al's head was pinning him, and he'd already been spotted by the EMTs.

Of course Patterson was going to want to admit them both.

Dammit. It hadn't even occurred to him. He'd been so absorbed with getting his brother medical attention -

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine today," he growled as the tires rolled to a noisy stop, only a few yards away.

Al grinned up at him. "Sorry." He didn't sound even remotely contrite.

-x-

His armored fingertips slipped off the wooden frame, and it almost made him angry. He'd performed split-second grabs to save himself from unknown falls his entire life, and while this wasn't the first time he hadn't quite made it, it was the first time he could blame the automail.

True automail wouldn't have failed him.

Of course, if he'd been using his bare fingers, he wouldn't have had the strength to even attempt it. It was a moot point; the frame he'd tried to grab was now pulling away with increasing speed, so he turned his attention to where he was heading.

The hallway floor, in its entirety, was falling away below him. His ladder was still mostly upright, just within reach, and he hooked it with his right foot, curling it up so stretching fingertips could catch the wood. It wasn't as wide as the hallway; now that he'd fallen past the 'ground floor' he could see that the walls seemed to continue down into blackness, almost like the space beneath the hallway was a trench.

A trench of unknown depth. Certainly deeper than a single story.

This fall could be a fatal one.

He looped his arm through a rung, bringing his hands together before changing the shape of the wood into a long pole, and he twisted it quickly, jamming it between the two walls. The hall floor was about ten feet below him when it impacted solid ground, and while he hadn't gotten the pole exactly perpendicular with the walls, it was enough to slow him down. He curled his left toes, catching the lever in his armor, and hit bottom a hell of a lot sooner than he'd expected.

Unprepared, his weight was thrown forward by his braced armor, and it took him a while to realize that his face was numb.

Shit.

Edward Elric opened his eyes, not surprised to see that his view of blackness was not greatly changed. His ears were ringing, and he seemed to be lying on his stomach. He tried to take a deep breath, choking on dust, and a familiar pain scrabbled its way from the front of his skull to the rear as he coughed.

Curling onto his right side, he could make out a long rectangle of light above. Squinting at it didn't make it that much clearer, and he gave up trying to estimate the distance.

Al.

He must've fallen, too.

Stifling a groan, he rolled back onto his stomach, bracing his knees against the hall floor. It shifted nauseatingly beneath him, indicating that he wasn't going to be able to walk, so he settled for crawling. Better that way. Less chance of missing Al.

It was a dusty and arduous process. Twice he lost his balance and tipped over onto his left side, until he actually found the left wall and stuck to it. Even leaning against the wall, it felt as though the hall floor was tipping towards it, pushing him against it. He fought back the urge to retch, forcing one hand in front of the other.

Al had been standing in the hall, without a ladder. Without anything close enough to transmute. Without armor to help him catch himself.

He crawled what seemed three times the distance of the hall before he found what he was looking for. He might have missed the heap of Al altogether, except for a repetitive sound he assumed was his brother breathing. His ears were still steadily ringing, an alarm in his brain.

Find him. Assess damages. Treat injuries.

Edward laboriously dragged himself away from the wall, an uphill battle, and tried to balance on his knees. Things were still shifting, and he clamped his jaw closed as a precautionary measure. His armored hand was useless for feeling out his brother's position, but his eyes had grown accustomed enough to the low light that he could make out general features.

Al was almost in a crouch himself, though it was clear he'd fallen that way, rather than shifting after the fact. His legs were folded beneath him, his arms lying almost straight against his sides, and his forehead was balanced against the floor at an angle. There was something quite wrong with the position, somehow, and Ed hesitated before he put his flesh hand against the back of his brother's neck. The spine was still intact, and his pulse was steady. Obviously his neck wasn't broken, but the angle of it to his shoulders was somehow incorrect.

Gingerly, Edward turned him onto his right shoulder, untangling him as gently as he could. Al's head rolled easily as his body was shifted, and the same, repetitive sound caught his attention again.

It was an exhale, but it sounded-

It sounded pained. Difficult.

"Al?" His voice was quiet to his ears, dull and without inflection. "Al?"

His brother didn't respond.

Once he was a little more stretched out, things were easier. Ed carefully felt his brother's throat, checking for swelling, but found nothing. His chest and ribs seemed intact as well-

The joint of his left arm and its accompanying socket, however, was another story altogether. Edward still felt dizzy, but a little less unbalanced, and his unarmored hand was becoming easier to manipulate. Relocating a shoulder wasn't a particularly risky thing, but it could take a significant amount of strength, and he wasn't sure he had it yet. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his brother's upper arm, carefully rotating it into an open position. It would be easier to-

With an audible pop and almost no effort, the arm slipped smoothly back into place, and Al moaned, moving feebly beneath his hand.

"Alphonse?"

The sound didn't repeat, nor did the movement, but the distressed quality was suddenly gone from his breathing. It seemed to slow slightly, still too steady to indicate anything but unconsciousness.

Patting down the rest of him revealed no other major injuries. No swelling in his abdomen, no broken bones in the legs or ankles. Ed didn't bother with his feet; they didn't seem to be bleeding, so even if he'd fractured something, it wasn't going to kill him. Obviously nothing else was hurting him as badly as the shoulder had been.

Edward leaned back on his haunches, slightly irritated when the floor shifted yet again. The ringing was still there, just as loud and steady as it had been. Just how hard had he hit his damn face, anyway? He could feel his features with his fingertips only, and he found something sticky he was going to assume was blood, but outside of numbness and a contusion of some kind his skull itself was in one piece, so why the hell . . . ?

He let his head fall back, sizing up the rectangle of light again. His eyesight was clearing up, or at least it seemed to be. The lines of the hall above were sharper, at any rate.

It was just a guess, but it looked like a good forty feet.

And that was impossible. At forty feet Alphonse wouldn't have had a dislocated shoulder. He would have had a broken one. Internal injuries. Given his position, at least one of his legs as well. Unless he was unconscious, thus relaxed, by the time he hit the ground . . .?

He rubbed his eyes, squinting again, but his estimate of the distance didn't change. Shit. If he was that far off, transmuting them back to the 'ground floor' was going to be harder than it looked.

Not that Al was awake to see him overshoot something that badly, but still.

"Up we go," he muttered in warning, bringing his hands together. He reached below the wood under his fingers, expecting dirt, but abruptly the transmutation failed.

It didn't rebound, which was a miracle considering the size he'd been attempting. It simply petered out before it ever got started, in a way he hadn't felt since-

Since they were children. Since his first few transmutations.

Understanding. Deconstruction. Reconstruction. He'd failed the first step.

Frowning, he clapped his hands again, this time simply making a hole in the wood by his left side. It was effortless, or as nearly effortless as any alchemy since that night, and he stared at the inky hole he'd transmuted in confusion.

Then, against his better judgment, he stuck his hand in.

He used the armored one, just in case he came into contact with anything dangerous, but all he felt was space. And that was ridiculous, because obviously the wood planks of the hall were sitting on something-

He reached in further, bending his elbow to examine the underside of the hall floor. Was it possible they were suspended by wires, in the corners, as opposed to having landed on something solid . . .? His fingertips encountered something with a metallic twang, and he withdrew his right hand, substituting his left.

Metal coils, completely compressed, considering he was sitting on top of one.

A spring.

He reached around until he found another, this one also completely compressed, and a slow grin spread across his face as he leaned closer to Al. The spring expanded slightly, and the floor shifted.

It was on shock absorbers. Like a giant box spring.

That was why he'd hit the floor sooner than he'd expected. It was on the bounce back up, and since Al had fallen on the opposite side, not only did they have the give, they had a see-saw effect.

That was why Al was still alive, and relatively uninjured.

Whoever had designed this had intended the victims live. Be rendered immobile, and possibly injured, but alive.

He shook his slightly, clapping his hands again, and this time drew on the wood of the walls around him. Better to leave this trap intact, so someone could examine it. Not that there was any doubt who would have designed something like this.

Franklin had left it for someone, that much was certain. The question was who.

-x-

"-ould really only get one of these in any given year. You're quite the overachiever, Alphonse Elric."

Confused, he opened his eyes, blinking repeatedly as the ceiling continued to speak.

"I guess it is mean of me, to pick on you when you can't really defend yourself," the off-white, corrugated tiles decided, in the same friendly voice. "But I have to get my hits in while the getting's good."

Hits . . . ?

"You seem puzzled." The voice was significantly more serious. "Alphonse?"

Ah. It wasn't the ceiling tiles talking. That was good. He wasn't used to waking up in places with ceiling tiles at all, let alone listening to them lecturing him. Al shifted his head, favoring the familiar ache in his neck, and found something in a brighter white, in motion, far too close for comfort. He flinched back before he realized it was a person.

It was Doc Patterson.

The moment the name left his mental tongue, everything clicked into place. Central HQ hospital. He'd stared up at those ceiling tiles more than once, waiting for nii-san to come around.

This time, though, it appeared that Dr. Patterson had been waiting on him.

Patterson followed his backward jerk, fingertips gentle on his face as he tried to hold him still. "Take it easy, Elric. You're in the hospital-"

He nodded before he realized the doc could misinterpret it as an escape attempt. "I got that part." Speaking was easy, and while his throat was dry, it didn't seem to hurt. "What happened?"

The last thing he remembered, he'd ruined nii-san's shower, and then they'd gone to . . . to some place to meet someone –

A bright light that cut straight to the back of his head startled him, and he squinted harder. "Geez, doc-"

"You don't remember?"

Al tried to relax back against the pillow, and the light moved to his other eye. Patterson was keeping it far enough away that it wasn't painful, but he continued to squint. It seemed to help him think.

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "We went . . . somewhere, to meet someone." Typewriters, piled in a mountain of dust. Magical hallways and shrinking walls and falling-

Falling.

Al jerked up again, almost headbutting the doctor, and Patterson put a restraining hand on his chest, rather than his shoulder. The reason for this became immediately apparent when his left shoulder gave a forceful throb. Al grimaced and froze, allowing the doctor to push him gently back against the mattress.

Well, that was no surprise. Or maybe the surprise was the fact that he fell at least three stories and the only thing that seemed hurt was his shoulder-

"Nii-san-"

"He's fine." The voice was soothing, and slightly amused. "I guess you remembered."

Al winced as he was forced to relax again, craning his neck to get a good look at his shoulder. It was bare, and fairly swollen, but not particularly red. Nor were there stitches. Curiously, he used his right arm to throw the sheet up, somewhat startled to see himself as he'd always been. As he'd been when he woke up that morning. Two arms, two legs, no broken bones poking through his flesh, no stitches. No blood, dried or otherwise. No bruises.

No clothes, either, but that was a moot point. So he'd been unconscious when they'd brought him in-

"What? How?"

Patterson sank onto the side of the bed, removing his hand when he saw his patient wasn't about to do anything more strenuous than pull the sheet back up. "Your brother, I think. He conked out in the ambulance and hasn't regained consciousness yet. He's just sleeping," the doctor added soothingly, and Al realized his face had given him away.

He was sleeping.

He was fine.

"As for you, I'd say you've already run through a year's worth of luck." Patterson picked up the forgotten chart, flipping back to the front page. "You came in with significant swelling of the ligaments and capsule of your left shoulder, which would indicate it was dislocated in recent history." He paused there, as if waiting for an affirmation. When none was forthcoming, the skin between his eyebrows bunched. "You also collected a concussion," the doctor added in a droll tone, "and a bruised elbow, leading me to believe your injuries were related to a fall."

Al nodded. "I remember that." It felt like he'd fallen forever, and he recalled hearing the hall floor strike something solid –

And all he had to show for it was a concussion and a dislocated shoulder?

"Nothing after?"

He shook his head, tilting it in an effort to see how reduced his range of motion had become. He also wondered if it was worth telling Patterson he'd dislocated it once before, a couple years ago.

"Outside of those two issues, the damage is fairly light. You somehow avoided aggravating your neck, which is a miracle unto itself. You were pretty deeply unconscious when they brought you in, though, so we're not going to take any chances."

Al followed the doctor's glance, eying dull-colored drugs in IV bags beside him, and refocused on Patterson as he reached into a coat pocket for a pen. "Chances?" If he'd been drugged this heavily, and nii-san had been on that ladder, fallen from an even greater height-

How the hell could he be okay? The 'automail,' maybe? "How injured is my brother?"

Patterson started scribbling. "He's in much the same condition you are," he murmured distractedly. "Though I'd guess he landed on his left leg, not his shoulder. I'm going to keep both of you overnight for observation."

That was unlikely to go over well. Alphonse idly glanced to his left, finding the room he was in was the usual double occupancy, but there was no one in the bed beside him. Patterson followed his gaze.

"For once, the hospital is empty enough that we could give you each private rooms." Then he sighed. "Well, that, and I was afraid you two would plot if I put you in the same room."

That sounded more like it. "Do you know what time it is, doctor?"

He got a raised eyebrow. "A little after eleven o'clock. Do you have somewhere to be?"

Al grimaced. "Yes, actually." He'd only cancelled the eight o'clock classes, though he was sure Dueys would have continued noting their absence. She'd probably expect them back after lunch, though, so he'd need to call in and cancel their afternoon classes as well. He didn't want her to worry too much; she might resort to guns. "You said Ed passed out in the ambulance – did he say anything?"

Like how the two of them had survived?

Patterson capped his pen, standing and putting the chart into the metal bin at the foot of his bed. "He did, but nothing that made a lot of sense. He mentioned two other people, though no one else was found at the scene, and that his ears were ringing." The doctor frowned. "I don't think he realized the alarms he was hearing were actually there."

Al blinked. "Alarms?"

"Your brother didn't call the ambulance," the doctor answered. "Neighboring businesses said an alarm started a little after eight o'clock that morning, and the police arrived to find you and your brother near the back entrance of a derelict mortgage lending building. He apparently had the presence of mind to show them his watch, so the military was called, but he fell unconscious soon after."

So Ed had gotten them out . . . "What were the names of the people he mentioned? Do you know?"

Patterson picked up the chart again, flipping to the back page. "Hmm. The MPs made a note, I'm sure . . . do you know anyone named Dwight, or a Missy? Is that a nickname?"

Dwight and Missy . . . ?

The children in Sorn's mystery novel. The ones that fell through the floor to the basement. The ones that were trapped while a thunderstorm was rolling in.

Damn. He should have figured that out himself, with the sound of the mechanism severing the floor struts on top of the things they'd seen in the rooms, the dust on the hall floor-

So it had been Sorn.

-x-

The scene that greeted him was pretty much what he'd pictured. Alphonse was the only one actually obeying the doctor, and was lying in the bed closest to the door, still in his hospital gown. Edward was sitting the second patient bed with his legs folded, having changed back into his street clothes, picking at the hem of the sheet he wasn't under. In the far corner, Russell Tringum sat in a chair, his knees pulled up and his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen. The Elrics looked up as they walked in; Tringum didn't move a muscle.

He ignored them for a moment, taking in the MPs by the door and listening with only half an ear as Hawkeye dismissed them. He strode purposefully across the room, directly to Russell, and faced the window, placing his hand gently on the man's right shoulder.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He said it softly, for Russ alone. The shoulder beneath his hand shuddered slightly, but there was no other reaction, and he left it where it was, content to stare at the late afternoon sun dappling through slightly swaying leaves.

"Tell me what happened, Major."

The man's frame shook again, but he knew Russ had heard him. Almost thirty seconds came and went before he raised his head woodenly and spoke.

"Fletcher worked the early shift on grid thirty-two. I relieved him. He looked tired, I offered to take him to the library before I started work. He declined. He was supposed to go to the academy afterwards." The man's voice was eerily calm. "Instead, he came here, and asked for Patterson. A nurse pointed him towards the apothecary. That's the last time anyone saw h-him alive."

Outside of one little stumble, it was delivered completely deadpan, and Mustang squeezed his shoulder. "Did you see him this morning, doctor?"

Patterson made a slightly surprised noise, as if startled to have been brought into the conversation. "I'm afraid not. I was in the apothecary this morning, but I left to care for Chamber Speaker Durnd a little after eight am. The nurses were in the middle of a shift meeting, which means it's likely they never noticed me leave. They did send him on to the place they thought I'd be."

He'd already said that the nurses hadn't noticed that Fletcher had been unduly distressed, and Mustang was sure the Investigations department had already gone over the story with them. In fact, Russ might have been able to deliver that monologue so well because he'd already done it.

"Had he been behaving differently in the past week?"

Russell eventually decided the question had been directed at him, because he shook his head. "No. He seemed fine. Just tired." Another shiver. "I wouldn't have let him go if I'd thought-"

"I know." Mustang glanced back towards the door; the MPs were gone. "Dr. Patterson, please discharge Fullmetal. Edward, escort Russell home."

There was something about Russell's carriage that worried him. Patterson had already briefed him on Tringum's injuries, at the hand of Fullmetal no less, but he wasn't curled over on himself because of the broken rib and the gash. Roy would eat his gloves if Russ had even noticed the physical pain at all yet. Or had acknowledged the emotional pain. He wasn't mourning, his voice was steady. He was either still in denial, or he had already moved on to bargaining. And there was no doubt Maria Ross was not qualified to deal with stopping an alchemist in the midst of a human transmutation.

He could trust Edward to prevent Russ from killing himself. Since quite obviously he'd already attempted to do so once today. After he'd spoken with Al Elric alone, he'd have them swap out.

Hopefully Ed and Russ wouldn't kill each other before then.

"Minister-"

"He looks well." Mustang turned, then, patting Russ's shoulder once before facing the room again. Edward was giving him a strange look, but didn't seem particularly resistant to the idea.

"Yes, he has a habit of doing that," Patterson muttered. "He has a concussion, and I had meant to keep him for observation-"

"Is it absolutely necessary?" He didn't want to endanger Fullmetal, but Elric was obviously thinking on his feet, and not hiding under any available pillow from the sunlight.

"It's fine," Fullmetal said tonelessly. "It would be my honor."

They were both older brothers, and Fullmetal had lost Alphonse once before, even if only briefly. He would probably actually be a better influence on Russell than Alphonse.

Assuming Russ ever forgave him.

Patterson eventually relented, as Mustang knew he would. "Very well. May I send staff to the residence to check up on them?"

"Of course." Another reason to get someone in there, to force Russell to keep functioning, to be aware that the world hadn't stopped. "If you're ready, Edward, Russell?"

Fullmetal gave him another long look, then unfolded his legs and got to his feet. He did so steadily, with no trace of dizziness, and the two Elrics gave each other an unreadable look before Edward turned back to him.

"The MPs said you had an interesting time last night."

He raised an eyebrow. Ed was referring to the assassination attempt, obviously. "You hadn't heard?"

Edward shook his head. "No. I was holed up in Sorn's library. Funny Hakuro didn't mention it to me, though, when he dropped by."

Yes, he had known Hakuro had left the investigations pretty early in, and he had known the man went straight to Sorn's. Nor was it surprising that Hakuro would have withheld the information, in his attempt to get Ed to spill what he'd found. It was too early to tell at this point if Alphonse had disobeyed him and let his brother in on his assignment, but he'd find out soon enough.

Either way, it was not a discussion he wanted to have in front of Tringum. Certainly not now. Russ had enough to worry about without knowing he was under the military's eye for unexplained income.

"That shouldn't be surprising at all, Fullmetal," he drawled. "I'm certain you were as forthcoming with him."

Ed's eyes narrowed slightly as he caught on, but strangely, it was Russell who spoke next.

"What is it you all want to discuss so badly?"

Roy glanced back over at the Winding Tree Alchemist, surprised to see that he'd uncurled himself, and was even getting to his feet.

"If it has to do with the investigations, I get it." His voice was still steady, still emotionless. "Just tell me one thing. Tell me why you called my brother yesterday, Al. Tell me Fletcher wasn't involved."

Alphonse, who had been staring at his feet, blinked in surprise. "Ah, I was out of town, and I needed some info from an old State Alchemist's record. Ed was tied up, so I rang your place. I . . . was supposed to take a couple hours' worth of his cleanup in exchange for his legwork."

Mustang kept his face impassive. It sounded quite innocent, and it might actually be true, but if it wasn't, he had indeed peripherally involved Fletcher in the search for Franklin Sorn. And if it wasn't, he'd also seriously underestimated Alphonse Elric's ability to fib.

"Speaking of which," Patterson cut in politely, "I don't want any of you performing alchemy until further notice. No cleanup shifts, no demonstrations in class. No private research, either," he added, trying to catch Russell's eyes. "I know you'll want to get your mind off things, but until I know what happened to your brother, it's too risky."

Russell's expression didn't change. He stood there a moment, staring first at the doctor, then at Mustang. Roy expected a protest, but Russ chose not to say anything, he simply started walking. Edward gave Roy another hard look, which he returned blandly, and then Fullmetal followed Tringum to the door.

"The same goes for you, Minister," the doctor added, watching the two pass by Goodman. Ed gave his brother one last glance, and Alphonse nodded to him.

"How are you feeling, Alphonse?" Patterson had surely noticed that he hadn't made any promises, but Roy knew the doctor wouldn't insist. After all, if he was using alchemy, it was going to be to save his own life or the life of someone else, and if he risked heart failure every time he did it, that was acceptable. He was aware it could be a problem, and he would act accordingly.

Al sat up a little straighter. "My shoulder hurts like hell. Other than that I'm okay."

"Do you feel well enough to relieve your brother at some point this evening?"

"Now, really, Minister-"

Alphonse ignored Patterson, and nodded.

Beside him, the doctor crossed his arms. "Okay, I give up. What aren't you telling me."

There was no real benefit to pulling Patterson into the loop, other than silencing his protests. And he really wasn't that hard to steamroll. "You were the one that requested supervision for Russell," he pointed out mildly.

"Yes, but I'm certain you have other alchemists wh-"

"None who specialize in human transmutation, and none who have experience destroying homunculi."

Patterson stared at him in complete shock for a moment, then closed his mouth. "Oh," he finally said. "I see."

"You said something about sending some staff to check on them."

The doctor blinked again, then reached absently into his coat for a pen. "That's correct. I'll take care of that now." He turned to the door a bit dazedly, and Mustang waited until it had firmly shut behind the doctor before he spoke again.

"I'll take that report now, Lieutenant Colonel."

-x-

The door was pulled open, and Mustang swept through without hesitation, scanning the orderly, shining tables until he located the one that was occupied. There was only one pair of boots marching behind him; it would be too disrespectful to bring his entourage through here. Even still, it sounded to him like the two of them were stomping their way across the clean tiles, the shining metal cabinets amplifying even the slightest sound. Dr. Patterson had his back to them, bent over the mostly covered body, and he didn't look up until they were almost on top of him.

"Prime Minister, Colonel," he greeted them, setting down a chart. His voice and manner were apologetic but not hushed. A reminder there was no real need to worry about noise. No need to worry about waking anyone. "I'm sorry to bring you here under such circumstances."

'Here' was the morgue of the Central HQ hospital, a place all peace-time soldiers spent some amount of their time dead before they were transferred to the funeral homes for visitation and final interment. 'Here' was a place Mustang had spent too much time already. If he'd still had the remnants of his damaged eye, he was certain he would see Maes on the table just at the end of the row.

Mustang inclined his head, moving to stand at the foot of the occupied autopsy table. It was clear Patterson hadn't started yet; Fletcher Tringum's exposed chest was intact, and sightless, white-glazed eyes reflected the overhead lights dully. Mustang studied the ghost of his expression for a long time.

"What have you found?" It was remarkably easy to speak. As if he wasn't really standing there, staring down so detachedly at a dead friend. While he and Fletcher Tringum had never been as close as he was to his unit or subordinates, the young man was a brilliant alchemist with a large heart. He had been pivotal in stopping Dante and the homunculi, in tandem with his brother Russell, and nearly a year ago he'd risked his life to save the life of Alphonse Elric. Five months later he'd repeated the act.

In fact, Roy was wondering why he hadn't been called from Parliament by news of the death of a civilian alchemist, and the disappearance of three of his own.

Who was he kidding. He counted Fletcher Tringum among his own, State certification or no.

Patterson didn't beat around the bush. "My findings are still preliminary, of course." He gestured at the body. "Cause of death was likely heart failure. Note the discoloration of his lips and mucous membranes. Probably very quick, onset would have been sudden and consciousness thereafter only a minute at most. He might not have even known what hit him."

No. Given what was left of his final expression, he knew damn well what had hit him.

"Staff he was in contact with prior to his death reported him as looking a bit tired, but otherwise healthy. As to what caused the heart failure . . . I'll know more after the autopsy is completed."

"Do you have any theories?"

Mustang turned to the doctor in time to receive a grim look. "This is the second previously healthy alchemist I've been presented with these symptoms. The first was Bren Durrell."

The Flint Alchemist. The man that had attempted to decompose Johann Irving's amplifier through alchemy.

Which meant Patterson thought it was related directly to the feedback. To the fact that Fletcher Tringum had been exposed to the same amplifier.

"Was there evidence he was transmuting just before he died?

The doctor shook his head. "No. I've been through the apothecary with a fine-tooth comb, but everything's in place. However, I do know he was scheduled for and worked a cleanup shift this morning."

The implication being that now they had to worry not only about over-exerting the alchemists exposed to Johann Irving's amplifier on the spot, but that accrued exertion could also kill them over a longer period of time. Or perhaps everyone who had used the amplifier was slated to die this way, regardless, and it was only a matter of time for all of them. "When do you think you'll complete the autopsy?"

Pattterson uncharacteristically sighed. "I'm a bit more worried about my living patients," he admitted outright. "But I'll remain here this evening until it's finished."

Mustang nodded, giving Fletcher Tringum a last, long look before turning on his heels. "And how are your more fortunate patients?"

The doctor, too, lingered near the body for a moment before respectfully pulling up the blue sheet, covering Fletcher's chest and face. "All of them will recover. How much do you know?"

Mustang glanced to his left, where Colonel Hawkeye stood at parade rest, her eyes somber. As one, the three began walking towards the door.

"Almost nothing. The Elrics were involved in some sort of incident involving the local police." The Elrics had gone to investigate Franklin Sorn.

"Then you know as much as I do. There was a . . . trap, Edward said, set up by an alchemist."

Mustang kept his face impassive. It would have been nice to have known that a few hours ago, though truthfully he wasn't really sure Alphonse could have successfully contacted either him or Hawkeye before now anyway.

"A serious fall was involved, though Alphonse came out of it worse than Edward," Patterson continued. "They both have concussions, and Alphonse's left shoulder was dislocated. That injury was exacerbated in the struggle, and he ripped the IV line out of his right while he was at it."

Mustang glanced at the doctor. "Struggle?" If an IV had been involved, it meant the struggle had been at the hospital -

So at least one of them had attempted it. Or threatened to.

Damn them. Would those brothers ever learn?

The doctor grimaced. "Yes, about that. I'd like to ask a favor on the subject."

It was hard to keep his voice neutral when he answered. "Name it."

"I came upon . . . a situation I might have misconstrued. Edward Elric had restrained Russell Tringum from approaching the body, but released him moments after I entered the room. He performed . . . alchemy of some kind. Obviously not human transmutation," he added hurriedly, as Mustang raised an eyebrow. "But given all three of their histories regarding the subject, as well as actions they took last year, I don't believe it would be wise to discharge Russell Tringum without supervision. At least for a few days."

Performed alchemy on the body . . . ? But if not an attempted resurrection, what on earth would Russell have been doing? Trying to determine the cause of death himself?

"Of course. Colonel, please see to it." Russell was familiar enough with his unit that a soldier stationed just outside wouldn't be too much of an intrusion. Then again, he supposed if Russell had all the ingredients necessary to construct an adult human body in his home, he might not actually need Fletcher's physical remains to attempt a resurrection. He wouldn't have to set foot outside, and any sentries posted would have no idea. Either way he'd end up with a homunculus, but Roy was honestly not certain which process was more likely to be survivable.

"If I might suggest First Lieutenant Ross," he added. She wasn't having any luck with the Drachman diplomats anyway. No one was. They were still spitting mad that they were being essentially held against their will in the Amestrian capitol, and Parliament was still debating what to do with them. He could probably leave them unsupervised for hours and they'd still be deliberating when he returned. Not that he had any intention of doing so. He'd left Breda to babysit, knowing Hakuro wouldn't hesitate to make a move, thinking the major was still, at least temporarily, in his pocket.

"Yessir," Hawkeye answered, in a slightly approving sort of tone. It was her call, since it was her subordinate, but it was nice to know she agreed. If he recalled correctly, Maria had been one of the officers that had freed the Tringums during their incarceration and ordered execution by Pride. Perhaps that would give her an in with Russell she wasn't finding with the Drachmans.

Once they left the morgue, it was a short trip back to the elevator, which Goodman had secured. Brooks was nowhere to be seen; he suspected Hawkeye had left him back in the Prime Minister's wing simply to avoid any conflict that could arise with all of them in such close quarters, dealing with such a sensitive matter.

It didn't matter. He'd seen the body, but it would be days before the loss of Fletcher Tringum really hit him. It was taking longer for him to accept such things, after Maes. Perhaps he truly was becoming more cold-hearted.

But then there were always the exceptions. Like Edward Elric.

The elevator ride to the second floor was uneventful, and they stepped out into a very sober hallway. There were two nurses at the station, both downcast despite a visit from their Prime Minister, and he murmured words of comfort he had forgotten by the time he was halfway to the Elrics' room. He heard Patterson offer to show him the room where Fletcher's body was found, but he was certain Investigations had cleaned everything up neatly.

It wasn't as if there was any blood. Nothing to see but a chalk outline. There could be clues, but they would be invisible to his seeing eye, he didn't even know what to look for.

After all, if Patterson was right, Fletcher's murderers were lying in pure elemental form along a stretch of desert, in the dust of the long-restored Fuehrer's estate, and in a small grave in an unassuming cemetery just outside Central.

And if there had been any foul play, Patterson would find it during the autopsy. He had no doubt the good doctor's skills were as sharp with his deceased patients as they were with the breathing ones. Particularly one he'd seen so much of, even called upon for his talents in healing alchemy.

"I put all three of them in Alphonse's room," Patterson was saying, in a quieter voice. "They're being supervised by several MPs."

"They won't be necessary." Unfortunate, that Alphonse was in the room as well. He'd have to separate them.

Patterson paused, hand on the doorknob. "Please treat them gently, Minister." It was absolutely a request; the man's eyes were begging him. "They've all had a bad day."

Mustang gave the doctor a curt nod, and he pushed open the door.

-x-

The MP outside the room was her first indication that she'd found the right place.

Though honestly, the fact that he didn't have the door open was rather stupid. If she recalled correctly from the last time Edward was in this particular ward, there was a very large maple tree outside the windows on that side of the building, and as he'd demonstrated even as a boy, wood and plaster could be transmuted into just about anything.

Surely Patterson had already thought of that? It really wasn't like the doctor to use soldiers to keep his patients in line, and Ed was bound to react poorly to it.

Which meant-

Which meant the lead-headed lout had gotten himself into trouble with the military.

Again.

Wirny Rockbell swallowed back her sigh, instead arranging a somewhat vapid smile on her face and approaching the unamused-looking soldier. "Excuse me, sir, but is this Edward Elric's room?"

Only his eyes moved; they took her in from head to toe, and while he never made an inappropriate comment or expression, she still had the urge to clobber him. "I'm afraid this room is off-limits to visitors."

Oh, it brought back such memories . . . "I'm not a visitor," she declared airily. "Please step aside."

Unlike the young doctor, this MP was completely unfazed. "Are you a military officer?"

Oh yes. Definitely trouble with the military. "I'm the Full Metal Alchemist's mechanic. I understand he was in a bit of a –"

The enlisted didn't even wait for her to finish. He smartly stepped aside.

Slightly surprised, Winry let her words trail off. She was dying to know what changed his mind, but she knew damn well asking would be pushing her luck, so she just gave him a little nod, which even more weirdly, he returned, and opened the door slightly.

The first thing she could see through the crack in the door was a blonde man, bare from the waist up, using his slinged-up left arm to toy idly with heavy bandaging on his right. There was far too much facial hair for it to be Edward.

Both of them? Both of them were in the hospital?

Winry gave a gentle knock, pushing further into the room. On the far bed was the silhouette she was looking for – her armor looked more or less intact. The leg was folded with his real one, and his 'automail' arm was resting on his knee while his uncovered hand was picking at the hem of the sheet. He too was wearing a hospital gown, and the look on his face when he glanced up-

Confused, she turned back to Al. Sling, check. Bandaging, check. Bruises, check. He'd obviously gotten roughed up, but he certainly wasn't at death's door, so why-

"Come in," a female voice called from somewhere behind the door, and Winry glanced into the back corner of the room, previously hidden.

There was a third blonde in the room, also bare from the waist up, getting the finishing touches on bandages of his own by a dark-haired nurse. She looked very kind, and smiled sadly, and Winry gave her an uncertain smile in return before turning back to Edward.

The previous expression on his face was gone, replaced now by open concern. "Winry?"

"I heard you were here, Ed, but I didn't think you'd dragged Al and Russ down with you," she tried, a little lamely. Al's current body language, even as an adult human, suddenly reminded her so strongly of the armor it almost hurt. He looked exactly like he had when he'd been left out on the roof of the hospital, thinking that Ed didn't love him, or that he wasn't a real human.

He looked sad. Unfixably, unbearably sad.

Russell Tringum, sitting on a stool in the corner, wasn't even looking up enough for her to see his face at all. Just his bangs. He hadn't moved a muscle, not even as the gauze was wound around what was apparently a broken rib or two.

The door clicked shut behind her, but further inspection of the room revealed there was no fourth blonde.

"Winry, what are you doing here?"

She turned back to Ed, trying for a grin. She wasn't sure how well she pulled it off. What could have gotten the military so angry with them that an MP was stationed outside the room? Had there been an accident? Had they witnessed something . . .?

The radios had said there was an assassination attempt, but they said it wasn't successful. Was this why . . . ?

"I didn't think it was possible to find someone more caustic than you, Edward, but you certainly pulled it off. Dr. Ackernath confirmed my diagnosis, and managed to talk Granny into coming here." She suddenly had the urge to keep her voice down. "How did you ever find someone so charming?"

"One of Patterson's old professors," he said quickly. "So, she really broke her hip . . . ?"

Winry kept the grin with effort. "Fractured pelvis, actually." The boys were alchemists, and they'd attempted to reconstruct their mother's body from dust and water. She didn't need to spell that diagnosis out for them. But they already looked so defeated - "Ackernath thinks she's got a better chance than most," she added quickly. "Good bone density."

Al was staring at her, stricken. "Winry-"

"It could have been worse," she continued, in her best attempt at brightly. Truth be known, she wouldn't mind a twenty-minute hug from each of them, but clearly they were having problems of their own. "It's not broken. Oddly enough, the treatment involves titanium screws that aren't too different from the ones we use in automail-"

She trailed off when she realized Edward wasn't even listening anymore. He was staring off to the side, the way he used to do-

Used to do when he was a child. When he was feeling guilty. Or hurt.

She very nearly asked it before she thought better of it. If someone had actually died-

"What happened?" She hated the smallness of her voice.

Al looked back up at her, then glanced toward the corner of the room. Toward Russell Tringum. The nurse was just gathering her things, but he still hadn't responded. He remained where he was, hunched over himself on the backless stool, staring at his hands.

Had he done something . . .? Or had-

Alphonse looked back at her hesitantly. "Winry . . ."

"Fletcher's dead." There was almost no emotion in Ed's voice, and the figure on the stool remained absolutely still.

The door was pulled open, and Mustang swept through without hesitation, scanning the orderly, shining tables until he located the one that was occupied. There was only one pair of boots marching behind him; it would be too disrespectful to bring his entourage through here. Even still, it sounded to him like the two of them were stomping their way across the clean tiles, the shining metal cabinets amplifying even the slightest sound. Dr. Patterson had his back to them, bent over the mostly covered body, and he didn't look up until they were almost on top of him.

"Prime Minister, Colonel," he greeted them, setting down a chart. His voice and manner were apologetic but not hushed. A reminder there was no real need to worry about noise. No need to worry about waking anyone. "I'm sorry to bring you here under such circumstances."

'Here' was the morgue of the Central HQ hospital, a place all peace-time soldiers spent some amount of their time dead before they were transferred to the funeral homes for visitation and final interment. 'Here' was a place Mustang had spent too much time already. If he'd still had the remnants of his damaged eye, he was certain he would see Maes on the table just at the end of the row.

Mustang inclined his head, moving to stand at the foot of the occupied autopsy table. It was clear Patterson hadn't started yet; Fletcher Tringum's exposed chest was intact, and sightless, white-glazed eyes reflected the overhead lights dully. Mustang studied the ghost of his expression for a long time.

"What have you found?" It was remarkably easy to speak. As if he wasn't really standing there, staring down so detachedly at a dead friend. While he and Fletcher Tringum had never been as close as he was to his unit or subordinates, the young man was a brilliant alchemist with a large heart. He had been pivotal in stopping Dante and the homunculi, in tandem with his brother Russell, and nearly a year ago he'd risked his life to save the life of Alphonse Elric. Five months later he'd repeated the act.

In fact, Roy was wondering why he hadn't been called from Parliament by news of the death of a civilian alchemist, and the disappearance of three of his own.

Who was he kidding. He counted Fletcher Tringum among his own, State certification or no.

Patterson didn't beat around the bush. "My findings are still preliminary, of course." He gestured at the body. "Cause of death was likely heart failure. Note the discoloration of his lips and mucous membranes. It was very quick, onset would have been sudden and consciousness thereafter only a minute at most. He might not have even known what hit him."

No. Given what was left of his final expression, he knew damn well what had hit him.

"Staff he was in contact with prior to his death reported him as looking a bit tired, but otherwise healthy. As to what caused the heart failure . . . I'll know more after the autopsy is completed."

"Do you have any theories?"

Mustang turned to the doctor in time to receive a grim look. "This is the second previously healthy alchemist I've been presented with these symptoms. The first was Bren Durrell."

The Flint Alchemist. The man that had attempted to decompose Johann Irving's amplifier through alchemy.

Which meant Patterson thought it was related directly to the feedback. To the fact that Fletcher Tringum had been exposed to the same amplifier.

"Was there evidence he was transmuting just before he died?

The doctor shook his head. "No. I've been through the apothecary with a fine-tooth comb, but everything's in place. However, I do know he was scheduled for and worked a cleanup shift this morning."

The implication being that now they had to worry not only about over-exerting the alchemists exposed to Johann Irving's amplifier on the spot, but that accrued exertion could also kill them over a longer period of time. Or perhaps everyone who had used the amplifier was slated to die this way, regardless, and it was only a matter of time for all of them. "When do you think you'll complete the autopsy?"

Pattterson uncharacteristically sighed. "I'm a bit more worried about my living patients," he admitted outright. "But I'll remain here this evening until it's finished."

Mustang nodded, giving Fletcher Tringum a last, long look before turning on his heels. "And how are your more fortunate patients?"

The doctor, too, lingered near the body for a moment before respectfully pulling up the blue sheet, covering Fletcher's chest and face. "All of them will recover. How much do you know?"

Mustang glanced to his left, where Colonel Hawkeye stood at parade rest, her eyes somber. As one, the three began walking towards the door.

"Almost nothing. The Elrics were involved in some sort of incident involving the local police." The Elrics had gone to investigate a lead on Franklin Sorn.

"Then you know as much as I do. There was a . . . trap, Edward said, set up by an alchemist."

Mustang kept his face impassive. It would have been nice to have known that a few hours ago, though truthfully he wasn't really sure Alphonse could have successfully contacted either him or Hawkeye before now anyway. If he was even in good enough condition to do so.

"A serious fall was involved, in any case. Edward came out of it in better condition, thanks to the armor," Patterson continued. "They both have concussions, and Alphonse's left shoulder was dislocated. That injury was then exacerbated in the struggle. And he ripped out his IV," Patterson said as an afterthought. "But none are permanent injuries. He looks worse than he really is."

Mustang glanced at the doctor. "Struggle?" If an IV had been involved, it meant the struggle had been at the hospital -

So at least one of them had attempted it. Or threatened to.

Damn them. Would those brothers ever learn?

The doctor grimaced. "Yes, about that. I'd like to ask a favor on the subject."

It was hard to keep his voice neutral when he answered. "Name it."

"I came upon . . . a situation I might have misconstrued. Edward Elric had restrained Russell Tringum from approaching the body, but released him moments after I entered the room. He performed . . . alchemy of some kind. Obviously not human transmutation," he added hurriedly, as Mustang raised an eyebrow. "But given all three of their histories regarding the subject, as well as actions they took last year, I don't believe it would be wise to discharge Russell Tringum without supervision. At least for a few days."

Performed alchemy on the body . . . ? But if not an attempted resurrection, what on earth would Russell have been doing? Trying to determine the cause of death himself?

"Of course. Colonel, please see to it." Russell was familiar enough with his unit that a soldier stationed just outside wouldn't be too much of an intrusion. Then again, he supposed if Russell had all the ingredients necessary to construct an adult human body in his home, he might not actually need Fletcher's physical remains to attempt a resurrection. He wouldn't have to set foot outside, and any sentries posted would have no idea. Either way he'd end up with a homunculus, but Roy was honestly not certain which process was more likely to be survivable.

"If I might suggest First Lieutenant Ross," he added. She wasn't having any luck with the Drachman diplomats anyway. No one was. They were still spitting mad that they were being essentially held against their will in the Amestrian capitol, and Parliament was still debating what to do with them. He could probably leave them unsupervised for hours and they'd still be deliberating when he returned. Not that he had any intention of doing so. He'd left Breda to babysit, knowing Hakuro wouldn't hesitate to make a move, thinking the major was still, at least temporarily, in his pocket.

"Yessir," Hawkeye answered, in a slightly approving sort of tone. It was her call, since it was her subordinate, but it was nice to know she agreed. If he recalled correctly, Maria had been one of the officers that had freed the Tringums during their incarceration and ordered execution by Pride. Perhaps that would give her an in with Russell she wasn't finding with the Drachmans.

Once they left the morgue, it was a short trip back to the elevator, which Goodman had secured. Brooks was nowhere to be seen; he suspected Hawkeye had left him back in the Prime Minister's wing simply to avoid any conflict that could arise with all of them in such close quarters, dealing with such a sensitive matter.

It didn't matter. He'd seen the body, but it would be days before the loss of Fletcher Tringum really hit him. It was taking longer for him to accept such things, after Maes. Perhaps he truly was becoming more cold-hearted.

But then there were always the exceptions. Like Edward Elric.

The elevator ride to the second floor was uneventful, and they stepped out into a very sober hallway. There were two nurses at the station, both downcast despite a visit from their Prime Minister, and he murmured words of comfort he had forgotten by the time he was halfway to the Elrics' room. He heard Patterson offer to show him the room where Fletcher's body was found, but he was certain Investigations had cleaned everything up neatly.

It wasn't as if there was any blood. Nothing to see but a chalk outline. There could be clues, but they would be invisible to his seeing eye, he didn't even know what to look for.

After all, if Patterson was right, Fletcher's murderers were lying in pure elemental form along a stretch of desert, in the dust of the long-restored Fuehrer's estate, and in a small grave in an unassuming cemetery just outside Central.

And if there had been any foul play, Patterson would find it during the autopsy. He had no doubt the good doctor's skills were as sharp with his deceased patients as they were with the breathing ones. Particularly one he'd seen so much of, even called upon for his talents in healing alchemy.

"I put all three of them in Alphonse's room," Patterson was saying, in a quieter voice. "They're being supervised by several MPs."

"They won't be necessary." Unfortunate, that Alphonse was in the room as well. He'd have to separate them.

Patterson paused, hand on the doorknob. "Please treat them gently, Minister." It was absolutely a request; the man's eyes were begging him. "They've all had a bad day."

Mustang gave the doctor a curt nod, and Patterson pushed open the door.

-x-

He was shaking, his arms wrapped tight around his middle, and his forehead was touching his knees. His work shirt clung Russ didn't react at all when the door opened, and Al swallowed a sudden feeling of dread, and took a step into the room.

"Hey," he tried softly. "Brought you some meds. Looks like you could use them."

The second his voice left his throat the figure on the bed flinched, and there was a little gasp, as if Russ had been holding his breath. It was quick, and the figure then curled even more tightly around himself. The position was so crunched it couldn't have been relieving the pain, it was probably causing more –

Al took another step into the room, dread turning to alarm as he saw the corner of a piece of paper lying on the otherwise clean floor. "Russell . . .?"

"They won't help." The voice was powerless; it was like he couldn't get enough air to even speak.

Surely he hadn't tried –

Al hurried over to the figure, kneeling down in front of the other alchemist, and stared in horror at the crumpled but exceptionally detailed array. It was too small to have been used unless he'd copied it onto himself, and it was only generally related to the seven-point transmutation circle Edward had created. This had five points, but they were heavily interwoven with an almost Ishbalan border pattern of hard corners and sloping lines. A series of the familiar Tringum safeguards surrounded the main array, ready to drain off any excess alchemic energy before cellular decay could begin-

Al would have picked it up if he'd had a free hand. As it was, he was palming pills and a glass of water with his right and he wasn't sure why he hadn't dropped everything and forced Russ to lie flat against the bed-

"I thought it was him." Russ's voice hadn't changed, hadn't gotten any stronger. "I really thought it. He sounded just like that when he was coming in late and didn't want to wake me."

Al hesitated. He didn't see any visible blood, but he wasn't sure there would be, depending on what he sacrificed, depending on when he'd done it. Even if he'd just gone to the gate with the array, it still should have been a large enough reaction to wake Ed.

"Russ, tell me you didn't." Please, please don't let him have tried it-

"I felt guilty for being in here." The blonde alchemist muffled another sound, and tucked his face deep into the crevice between his knees.

Al stared at him a moment longer. What he could see of the man's skin was a good color; Russell was his age and while they'd all gotten a tan working shift these last months, his skin wasn't a pallid white beneath it. He wasn't bleeding out.

Russell's words caught up with him, and Al gave the room a quick once-over. There was nothing of interest on the end tables, and his gaze was drawn back to the dresser, studying the picture there. Russ was grinning widely, clutching his State Alchemist pocketwatch in one hand and trying to fend off his exuberant and plainly laughing brother with the other. Russ was in a suit, while Fletcher was dressed more casually, which meant it was probably the day Russell had been given the watch and the title of Winding Tree Alchemist.

There was no reason Russ would have a photo of himself getting his pocketwatch on his dresser, no matter how goofy a picture of Fletcher it was.

This wasn't Russell's bedroom. It was Fletcher's.

"I can't believe I did that."

Russ had mistaken his footsteps for Fletcher's.

Al grimaced, and set the glass of water down on the wood floor. "Russell . . . did you use this array?"

At that the other man looked up, and his stunned eyes were wet with tears. "Will it work?" It was hoarse, but suddenly strong –

Not strong. Just . . . with purpose.

Hope.

Oh damn. ". . . no."

He dropped his gaze quickly to the array again. "It would probably get you to the Gate, but . . ." Al bit his lip. "There's no array that can summon back a soul, Russ."

The rustle of hair on fabric. Russ had dropped his head back to his knees.

Well, at least if he asked, it meant he hadn't seen for himself. Al carefully folded the piece of paper one-handed, and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. "I'm sorry."

The man in front of him shuddered, stifling a small, urgent sound deep in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was more ragged than before. "But all the symbols add up . . . everything's accounted for."

"It's not the theory that's flawed, Russ. It's a brilliant array." It truly was; he'd need to study it to fully grasp it, but not now. Not for a long time. "It's us. Alchemists. We're not gods."

". . . can't it be close enough?"

Oh, how he wished it worked that way. "That's the one thing we can't do."

He wondered if Russ had been sitting up on purpose. Waiting for him. Waiting for the Binding Life Alchemist, the one alchemist that could separate his own soul into pieces and send them through the Gate without repercussion. The one alchemist that could reassemble the pieces back into a whole.

If he could do that, use a piece of his soul to find Fletcher's . . . even if he lost that piece forever, it would be worth it.

Russell whimpered quietly, his breathing uneven. "I can't let him go, Al. I can't."

"I know."

"He died alone. He was scared and he was in pain and he was alone."

Al moved the pills to his dangling left hand and awkwardly put his right on the other alchemist's knee. "He knew you loved him."

"He went there for help!" Russell uncurled himself slightly, jerking away from the touch. "He knew there was something wrong, he knew it. God, why did I let him go . . ."

Russell clutched at his stomach as if it pained him, a low cry crawling out of his throat. Tears had already stained his paints, and Al remained where he was, kneeling in front of the other man, moving his hand to rub the other's back soothingly.

"It's not your fault, Russ. You didn't do anything wrong."

"H-he's dead! I was sup-posed to protect him!"

"There was no way you could have known."

-x-

He was staring at the wall, or perhaps the floor, and he was so still that Al wasn't actually sure he hadn't fallen asleep with his eyes open. His posture was slouched, but leaning more to the left than the right, and his arms were wrapped around his abdomen tightly. Al waited for the other man to say something, but he continued his aimless staring, and Al took a step into the room. He put the glass and pills on the dresser, in front of a picture of the brothers.

"Hey. Brought you some painkillers. Doc said you should take them with food." It wasn't exactly a lie; Patterson had actually said that he needed to get those meds into Russell if he had to pin the man to the floor and shove them down his throat, but Al was very familiar with pain medication and taking it on an empty stomach, and he was sure if Patterson hadn't been as worried about Russell as he was, that would have been his advice instead.

Russell blinked, then sighed shallowly. "Go home, Al."

Al leaned on the doorframe, careful not to jar his shoulder or back. "In a while." He had no intention of doing so, but it didn't seem to be worth arguing the point. He wasn't really sure Russ had any spare bedrooms for guests, and of course Ed was going to be using one. He'd counted three doors at the top of the stairs, and one had been open and led to a toilet, so he could safely assume there were only two bedrooms up here. He also assumed Russ and Fletcher had had separate bedrooms –

Al glanced again at the top of the dresser. Outside of the glass and pills he'd placed there, there was the lamp, an ivory plate holding a few cenz, a small pile of envelopes, and a picture of the Tringums. Russ was grinning widely, clutching his State Alchemist pocketwatch in one hand and trying to fend off his exuberant and plainly laughing brother with the other. Russ was in a suit, while Fletcher was dressed more casually, which meant it was probably the day Russell had been given the watch and the title of Winding Tree Alchemist.

Al brought his gaze back to the envelopes, but it was only to confirm. There was no reason Russ would have a picture of himself getting his pocketwatch on his dresser, no matter how goofy a picture of Fletcher it was.

This wasn't Russell's bedroom. It was Fletcher's.

Russell blinked again, then shifted stiffly with another shallow breath. He'd probably been sitting there for hours. " . . . I'm sorry. About earlier." He finally glanced over, and there were circles beneath his eyes. "I'd never have-"

Al held up his good hand, silencing him. "I know." Never have transmuted him into oblivion just to get through him. Whether he would have or not was not the issue; he hadn't, and what was done was done. "Looks like Ed's cooked everything in the house. Want me to bring you up a plate of something?"

Russ held his gaze for a moment, evaluating him, before he turned away. "I'm not hungry."

He could relate, and let it drop, instead picking the pills and glass back up. He carried them into the room, somehow feeling like he was intruding, and offered them to the miserable figure on the bed. "Take these anyway. Trust me."

A brief flash of anger, nothing more. What Al had initially taken for exhaustion was in fact something else entirely. Russ had circles under his eyes, but they almost looked like bruises. The eyes themselves, a far darker brown than Ed's, were focused, even if unseeing.

Russell was thinking very hard about something.

The other man eventually took the glass from him, and Al made certain the pills disappeared into his mouth before he turned to leave. If Russ was thinking, it would be better to leave him alone. He wouldn't have chosen Fletcher's room to do it in, and it would probably be worth chasing him out if only to spare him the pain of waking up there without his brother.

But he didn't.

He was almost out of the room before Russell spoke again. "Sometimes he's wrong."

It was too vague for Al to figure out, and he hid a grimace as he turned. "Who do you mean?"

"Full Metal."

So they had had that conversation. Russ was still not quite focused on the present, so it was hard to tell if it had gone acceptably or disastrously. "Yes," he agreed. He hated to ask for specifics, but giving the man false hope would be worse. "Sometimes he is."

"When . . . you were there. In the Gate," Russell clarified slowly. "Did you see souls?"

Al took a preparatory breath and held it a moment. "No," he finally answered. "Not in that sense. I saw . . ."

Darkness. It had always been more what he heard than what he saw. His body had been an item in a cupboard, and the doors were almost always closed. And the sliver of soul that had stayed with it, trying to fill it and keep it alive, did not care to remember much of the goings on.

It could close its eyes, but not its ears.

" . . . I saw people pass through, on occasion." And he would leave it at that. "But they never lingered, not unless their death was slow."

Russell digested that information. "Do you agree with him? With Ed?"

"Yes. The only reason I can . . . I can do what I do is because my soul was broken a long time ago."

Russ glanced at him, a faint look of surprise marring his otherwise expressionless face. " . . . broken . . . ?"

Nii-san would hate it if he put it like that when they discussed it, but it didn't change the fact that it was true. "I didn't just give up my body, when we tried to bring Mom back. I gave up everything. Nii-san tried to summon my soul back. And even though he did it in the same moment I truly disappeared, he couldn't grab all of it. My body tried to keep it, he didn't have the necessary energy to break the bond between my body and my soul. The end result was that it was torn." It hadn't been as painful as that sounded, and Al frowned apologetically.

"My soul returns to me because . . . it's almost like magnetism. The smaller portion is attracted to the larger portion. The smaller the sliver that I separate, the stronger the attraction to the whole. In a way, it's the only limiter to that . . . skill, I guess you'd call it. I have to invest a larger portion of my soul if I want to bind it to something for an extended period of time. That prevents me from binding too many things at once. And if I ever over-reached, the part of my soul that remains in my body would be attracted to that larger portion, and it would leave my body."

In essence, if he ever overstepped that fine line, his body would cease to re-attract his soul, and die.

Of course, that wasn't the point of the conversation. "That's the only reason my soul could be pulled out of the Gate, Russ. The only reason it didn't pass through like everyone else's. Like Mom's. Like sensei's."

-x-

Russell digested that information. "Do you believe in God?"

Another hard question. Ed would answer categorically, but for him . . . science explained much, but it didn't really explain what he could do. Where souls came from. Where the energy that binding them to bodies came from. "I don't know." He took a few more steps back into the room, until he was well clear of the hallway. "What do you believe?"

Russell turned back to the floor. "I'm a scientist, Alphonse. I believe in things I can see and touch and

-x-

Why is he so sure?"

It was too vague for Al to figure out, and he hid a grimace as he turned. "Who do you mean?"

"Ed."

So they had had that conversation. Russ was still not quite focused on the conversation, so it was hard to tell if it had gone acceptably or disastrously. "So sure about what?"

"You were even younger than he was." It was as if Russ had just realized it. "It . . ." He stopped, and then he glanced down at the comforter. "It should work."

And hadn't they thought the same damn thing. Because it seemed like it should. It wasn't as if they'd tried to assemble a brand new soul from ingredients, they were just putting life back, not creating it.

But that wasn't how it worked at all.

"When . . . you went to the Gate, did you see your mother's soul?"

Al felt his mouth drop open and he closed it quickly. It was a perfectly reasonable question to ask, but just the memory of what they'd done –

"No." No, and that had made everything so much worse. Because a part of him had sat in the Gate, trapped in his body, knowing the entire time that they had failed. Luckily it was just a small fraction, incapable of agonizing over it like the rest of his soul had done those long years, but having that memory now, as vague as it was, drove the point home harder.

Ed had never asked him if he'd remembered his time sitting in the Gate. Al had decided long ago to lie if it ever came up.

Russ never raised his eyes. "So why did . . . Juliet Douglas walk and talk? If there was no soul there, then what?"

"There was a soul there. It was just . . . broken." Al hesitated. "The Red Stone she was fed with was nothing more than incomplete human souls. Enough that Sloth could function, feel, and think, but still missing vital pieces. She never felt whole, no matter how much Stone Dante gave her."

". . . and you regret trying."

Al closed his eyes. "Every day."

"You wouldn't do it again, if you had the chance."

Al shook his head slowly. "No. There's no point. Bringing back a shadow of the mother we knew would never be enough. It wouldn't be fair to what we created, either."

Russ uncurled an arm, absently touching one of the pillows on the bed. "Even a shadow is better than nothing at all."

"No. A shadow just makes it hurt worse."

"Can't hurt any worse." It was almost a whisper.

He ached to comfort the other man, but he didn't budge from the door. It felt like intruding, somehow. This wasn't his older brother, and he wasn't Fletcher.

"I . . . I can't do this. Sit here. I can't not look for him." Russ's voice was growing hoarse, but it was no louder than before, and his right hand traced aimless patterns on the corner of the pillow. "I have so much to tell him. Even if it was just a few minutes, I could talk to him. Make sure he knew."

"But you can't." There was no way Fletcher's soul was still at the Gate. "And that brings me comfort."

Russ flinched, but didn't look up. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it means the Gate doesn't have him." It was that simple. He knew that Fletcher was far beyond their thin black arms and greedy fingers. He was with their mother and Nash, or wherever souls went, but at least it wasn't a commodity, for Russell to trade flesh and blood and love and memories and years of his life. "It means he's at peace."

"Do you believe in God?"

It was a hard question, and Al struggled with the answer. "I don't know," he said finally. "Obviously there's something more at work than humans and science." The Gate was a glaring reminder than he'd already encountered some things that did not follow natural laws. It didn't mean that any of the prevalent religions in this world – or Earth – were correct, but it did insinuate there was a great deal to the universe that was not yet fully understood.

He doubted that would be of much solace to Russell, though. "Do you?"

"Dad did. Sort of." Russ took a slightly deeper breath, still absently touching the pillow. "Mom humored him. He said that there was something out there, that all souls returned to the same place and mingled before they were born again. That souls were elemental, like carbon or oxygen, and there was only so much of the stuff in the universe."

It was a comforting thought. That Fletcher's soul would eventually come back 'into circulation,' as it were. That Mom's would.

"That sounds like an alchemist's way of thinking."

"He also said that the idea of sin was part of the natural order. That someone's mindset when they died affected how their soul traveled back to the whole. It was the way he explained ghosts, when we were little."

He supposed, to a child, that would make lots of sense. If someone really didn't want to die, they could will themselves into being specters.

"He died alone, Al."

Al stared at the other man sadly. "He knew you loved him, Russ."

"He went there for help. He was terrified, and he was in pain." Russ's fingers twisted suddenly into the pillowcase. "He went there for help."

Al was silent. There was nothing to say.

"And everyone wants me to give up on him."

Al took a step back into the room. "No, Russ, that's not true-"

"He was my little brother." It was broken. "I was supposed to take care of him."

"You did-"

"What if he's still there? What if dad was right, and he's waiting for me to do something?"

Al remained silent, and Russell curled over his stomach again with a low moan. Al found himself hurrying over before he even really thought about it. What if the pain wasn't because of the ribs? What if Russ had already tried it, already sacrificed something-

Al bent over the other man, laying his hand on Russ's shoulder, and Russ looked back up at him. Al was only a little surprised to see tears on the man's face.

"What do I do?" It was choked out, more air than voice. "Oh, god, what do I do?"

Al just used the hand to try to get a feel for Russ's pulse. Please, don't let him have done it-

-x-

"What happened to you," she echoed. Not in so many words. It was because of what happened to Hohenheim. To dear Tricia, to her daughter and son-and-law, to the boys, to Izumi.

"No, it isn't." He scooted closer to the edge of his chair, his face so earnest. "It's complicated, yes, but-"

She finished tamping the tobacco, casting a coy glance at the nightstand again, and Al grabbed the matches, lighting one even as he continued. "-it's still a fracture, which means we don't need to concentrate too hard on the bone. The bleeding is no different in the pelvic cavity than it would be to stop a bleed on someone's arm, and you've seen that done a dozen times-"

"Alphonse."

She took the match with steady fingers, pulling away on the pipe as the tobacco caught. He was silent, letting her get her chance to light the pot, and once it was done she shook out the match, handing it back carefully so the cinder didn't fall on the afghan.

"It's my choice."

"But it's not the same-"

"It is." She'd been around far too long not to know the difference, and he knew it. "What happened to you, a year ago, what do you think that was?" He didn't immediately answer.

"-"

She gave him a steely look. He'd read the chart cover to cover, twice, and she knew he knew his anatomy. Probably better than she did, come to think of it. Then again, there wasn't much automail could do about this, not without scooping out the entire bottom half of her body.

And she was far too old to survive a procedure like that.

-x-

The idiot boy didn't understand.

She would have expected that kind of reaction from Edward, really. Alphonse had always been a bit quicker with the common sense, identifying with other people more easily. It wasn't that he had a bigger heart as much as it was that he was less caution about who he let inside. He cared more easily, and he'd always been so eager to please.

But not in this case. And maybe she understood why more than she wanted to admit.

"Some would consider this an invasion of their privacy, Alphonse."

He just sat there, his eyes drawn to the afghan that Winry had brought with them. It wasn't her handiwork, thank god; this was one her mother had made during the winter after Winry was born, and it was a very tight weave. It was enough to keep the slight chill off, at any rate, though the boy looked as if he itched to completely cocoon her in it.

"Aunt Pinako . . ."

She pursed her lips, letting him sort through things in his head. "A long face doesn't suit you." It had never suited Hohenheim, either, though he wore it often enough.

Al refocused his attention on her face rather than her body, but his expression didn't improve much. "I don't understand."

That was obvious. "You don't need to." She didn't say it sharply. There was no need to hurt him. And he was hurting, that much was obvious from the moment he'd walked in the door. She could be sure her granddaughter hadn't been the one to tell him, so there was no telling how much he'd known at the time, but she knew part of that hurt was caused by the recent death of his friend.

Thinking the worst. It wasn't like him, not really.

Al had changed when he was away, possibly more than even his brother.

"But . . ." He was searching for words that wouldn't sound trite, and he was having a hard time. "But why would you refuse . . .?"

-x-

She watched his face move from

-x-

"Some would consider that an invasion of their privacy, Alphonse."

He sat heavily on the chair, the chart forgotten and dangling from his fingers. He'd read it cover to cover twice; it had nothing left to offer him.

"Aunt Pinako . . ."

She watched him steadily, as she always had, her round glasses reflecting the afternoon light streaming into the room. The curtains had been tied back, and despite the cool temperature the windows were cracked open. Winry had done a good job of making it seem light and getting rid of the scents that accompanied recumbent wards, but nothing could offset the dark bag that hung beside the narrow bed, dripping life into her like an hourglass. Nothing could disguise the contents of the second bag, hanging much lower, draining it away.

"That face isn't becoming on you."

He smiled because she wanted him to, following the line of the afghan that had been draped over her deceptively small figure. He'd have moved it higher up on her chest but he knew she'd scold him for fussing over her.

Maybe it was because the bun was down. It was something he was going to have to get used to; she couldn't wear her hair up anymore, though Winry had done her best to keep it tied back. Pinako just wasn't a ponytail kind of woman.

Pinako was not a lying down kind of woman, either.

"Why?"

She gave him her usual thin-lipped glare. "

-x-

It was going swimmingly.

Edward Elric sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was pretty sure it ached, but frankly he still didn't have feeling in every part of his face, and there was no real telling if relieving the tension there was going to make the pain go away.

Couldn't even be sure of his own face. So how the hell was he supposed to make sense of this mess in front of him?

He took a deep, slow breath, recognizing his frustration for what it was. Maybe the research wasn't as fun anymore because the blue uniforms that came in and out were helping him rather than holding him for Hakuro. The fact that he had been explicitly told by the colonel that there would be full disclosure was bothering him, too, but he honestly wasn't sure why.

Maybe it wasn't fair. Maybe that was why. Why that asshole managed to negotiate with Mustang and he fucking gave. He knew the Prime Minister. Maybe not as well as Hawkeye or Havoc, but he felt he had a pretty good grasp on general day-to-day Mustang behavior. And he was beginning to think Parliament was right on target.

Mustang was afraid of screwing up.

"Sir?"

He finally looked up at the concerned face in front of him. "Fine. It's going fine," he said aloud. He didn't bother to moderate his tone.

It wasn't going fine.

Speaking of being afraid to screw up . . .

He focused again on the desk, then spared two seconds for every pile on the floor around him. They'd done a pretty good job of sorting every book, every journal into basic subjects. Maths were on the east wall, sciences on the west, geography and astronomy to the north, and the south held everything else.

And the desk held his and Al's notes. And Sorn's notes on his notes.

The piles were all pretty large. There had to be something linking them. He headed north, since it was directly in front of him, and stared down at the atlases and maps spread out there. The sergeant that had been assigned as his research assistant was actually capable, though he was no Sheska. Hell, if Mustang and Hakuro were such buddies now, why hadn't he been given Sheska? Surely she wasn't still under investigation.

Pindank had sorted the maps as best he could, though many of them were unlabeled, and some of the most detailed he'd ever seen. The kid had sunk some serious money into this collection, some of which showed altitude and landscaping as well as roads and other identifying landmarks. This was obviously important for some project, and he couldn't think of a single reason why geography would interest the Mechanical Alchemist.

There was a clue here, somewhere.

"I've arranged them according to matching landmarks, sir," Pindank offered from his elbow. He was trying hard to please, and he didn't really deserve the rough tone, but Ed couldn't quite bring himself to give a damn.

They needed a lead. One that wouldn't put him or Al in the hospital. Or a grave.

No matter how smart this kid was, he was a kid. Ed knew he and Al had made mistakes, mistakes they hadn't seen until they were older, in the other world. Things they should have done differently. Clues they'd left Mustang that had allowed him to trace their movements so completely.

This was one of those mistakes. This collection stood out as unusual.

"How did you match landmarks?"

The sergeant gestured at the largest map, which was a relatively small area in great detail. "This map seems the rarest, so I assumed it was also the most accurate. I tried to group similar river and lake patterns as well as like hill and mountain symbols together."

It was a harder task than it sounded; on some maps the texture of mountains had been drawn, on others, a simple triangle had been placed to indicate high land. Matching a clustered group of triangles to a drawn hill was almost impossible.

Edward cocked his head. The sergeant was right; the large map was extremely rare. And extremely detailed. The right-hand bottom corner had a ruler for measuring scale, and it appeared that the map only covered about fifty square miles. None of the other maps were even close to that level of detail.

If he could figure out where this was, he might know where the kid was going.

"Keep working on it," He tried to put a bit of approval into his tone. The sergeant saluted sharply, and Ed moved on to the math pile.

The math pile was highly complex, but that wasn't necessarily weird. Sorn was the Mechanical Alchemist. Technically the genius in his transmutations wasn't the materials themselves. He transmuted simple wooden, metallic, and mineral components, in plain shapes. The fact that his arrays could then assemble such simple components into something like a gun, a clock, an automobile, that was why he'd been certified.

And a great deal of that knowledge came from physics, geometry, and calculus. It was why he was technically one of the faculty of the Academy, as well as a student. It actually was his alchemical talents that were lacking, though he'd shown remarkable improvement since coming to study under them and the Tringums.

But some of this math didn't relate to anything mechanical in nature. In fact, it reminded him a little bit of Einstein, Poincare, and Lorentz's work with relativity. Of course, understanding space better would probably help pinpoint the part of Sorn's alchemy that made it so unique – the ability to use alchemy to actually assemble something as the materials were being manipulated. And understanding space would also explain the astronomy angle, in a way. Or time, if measuring time was something Sorn had to do as well, to ensure every portion of his transmutation occurred at the right moment.

So no clues there, necessarily.

-x-

"I need to see Mustang."

He watched the colonel take in his entourage, even as Challiel opened up her planner. It was quite unusual that he would appear without calling; he hated visiting Mustang, particularly in his office. It was also unusual that he would be followed by four laden military officers who weren't holding him under arrest.

Instead, they were holding reams of rolled paper, books, journals, and in one case, a pictureframe.

"If you'd given me Sheska I could have dispensed with the props," he muttered, when it seemed all she could do was give them a bemused look.

"I'm afraid Sergeant Sheska is working on research in another area," the colonel replied pleasantly. "But I'm certain she'll appreciate being thought of so highly." Then she collapsed fully into a small smile. "I believe teaching suits you, Edward."

He would have growled at her, but Challiel cleared her throat delicately. There was a reason she was Mustang's assistant, though he much preferred the Academy's staff. They at least had a sense of humor.

"The Prime Minister is currently meeting with Second Lieutenant Fuery."

Ed contemplated that for a second. He'd actually been meaning to check in with the second lieutenant. He hadn't talked to the guy in a while. Breda, either, really. And if it was happening here, instead of in Fuery's dorm, that probably meant it was official in some capacity.

"It's about damn time," he said instead. "We'll take a seat."

"I'm sure they're nearly finished, Full Metal. You can go in."

Well, at least that probably meant the gentle man wasn't getting discharged. Good thing, too. He'd almost died from the feedback poisoning he'd received carrying Irving's remains, and while he'd been recognized and given a special medal of service to the country for his efforts, as far as Ed knew, no one had told him when or in what capacity he'd be coming back to work.

At least Fuery would probably be okay with a desk job. It's what he'd basically had, before the Philosopher's Stone had come into play, and he really wasn't suited for combat.

Not that the second lieutenant was going to have a lot of choice, if what he was thinking was right.

"I don't –" He cut himself off. It was Mustang's call if Fuery should stay or leave. "I don't think he'll mind either."

Hawkeye gave him a slight nod, and Ed waved Challiel down, advancing on the imposing double doors and knocking once before pushing them open.

-x-

Completely off-guard, Franklin looked him up and down for any sign that he was less than sincere. Finding none, he couldn't take it any longer. "So you agree it'll work?"

Edward pursed his lips. "Yep. I think a Philosopher's Stone would pay for you to see and leave the Gate. It might even pay for the transportation of the cure as well. Keep in mind they're also probably also expert locksmiths," he added with a grumble, "but Pinako and Winry made that lock, it's pretty tough. It's the once you arrive part that I'm having a little trouble with."

He was eager to show the other man the math, but there wasn't time. "See, but it doesn't matter-"

"There's a guy in that world you call another dimension, named Albert Einstein. Crackpot, if you ask me, but he did have theories on time travel. Care to hear them?"

"Actually, we need to hurry-"

Edward smirked at him. "Sorn, we're talking about time travel. We've got time."

He sort of had a point, but of course they couldn't time travel without a Stone-

"You see, there's this theory that the timestream wouldn't split like you assume it would," Edward continued. "His theory goes, if you do something that changes your own future actions, a paradox is created. If you cure the plague, you'll never transmute this Stone. You're right. But if you never transmute the Stone, you never cure the plague, so you do transmute the Stone. See where I'm going with this? Einstein theorized such an event would destroy . . . pretty much the entire universe."

Franklin blinked. Yes, it had occurred to him, but then again, there had to be separate timestreams, since each dimension would have its own, so at the worst all he'd do is destroy this one-

Of course, each dimension might have its own universe, too. In which case he would be destroying this universe, but then would a new dimension branch out at the point of break-

"Time is relative," Edward said, oddly not in his lecturing voice. "Furthermore, relativity states that one can only move forward in time. Velocity equals distance traveled divided by time. You can slow time to a standstill, but you can't make it run in reverse. This entire theory is based on the idea that you can move back in time because the Gate is outside of time. That assumption is wrong. The Gate is not outside of time. Time simply stands still in the Gate."

"That's not possible, Edward.

"E equals M C squared," Edward told him. "E can apply to alchemical energy as well. It's not outside time. If you're right, everyone who exists after you leave this world will have to deal with the consequences of what you've done here, even if you grow up in a world without those consequences. If you're wrong, the entire universe is destroyed. So get in the car. We're going to West City."

-x-

Edward was just watching him, and that was fine. At least he wasn't interrupting. "That place you and Alphonse went, it was another dimension."

Ed shook his head. "It was another world. Same number of dimensions."

"Wrong." And he had the math to prove it, safe and sound in his library. "I'll prove it to you later. Just – for the sake of argument, take it as truth."

Elric folded his arms, then his eyes widened. "So that's what that was . . ." he muttered. "The Gate research, our notes. . . the math, I thought it was physics, but the equations-"

So he'd seen it. Well, of course he had, Franklin allowed. How else would Full Metal have found him? "Then you accept that time is a dimension in space as well?"

But Elric was a million miles away. If only he'd bothered to put just one of those emergency array coins in his pocket, he could have killed him then and there. "Time . . . damn, there was something . . ." Then his eyes widened. "You mean you want to use the Stone to travel through time?"

Franklin stifled his surprise that Elric was so accepting of the wildly alien idea. "Exactly. I can go back, with the cure, and then none of this will happen. The army will never move on Amestris, and I won't need to be here to transmute it. They won't really be dead."

Edward stared at him like he'd suddenly gone grey. "Are you serious?"

Franklin blinked, a little nonplussed. It was genius, clearly Full Metal had already come to the same conclusion, and he could prove every bit of it with math. "It'll work."

"No, it won't!" his professor exploded suddenly. "First off, what makes you think the Stone will protect you from the . . . timestream, let's call it. What makes you think you'll suddenly be out of the reach of the dimension of time?"

At this point, there was nothing to lose. "When you and your brother travelled, between 'worlds' as you call them, that place you're in is outside of time. It has to be, to allow the connection. Just bear with me for a second," he added, raising a hand. Edward had been opening his mouth, but stilled, and Franklin, slightly surprised, went on. "I know there are . . . beings, that live there. It's in your notes, and Fletcher Tringum once discussed them with me."

"Abou-"

But he held up his hand again. "Please. Let me finish."

And Elric was silent.

Warming to his subject, Franklin started pacing. "The Philosopher's Stone can be used to bargain with them. All it needs to do is 'pay' for them to spit me out in the right place. I can be sure I'll end up in the right place, I've been studying the star charts. Now," he continued right on, lest he be interrupted again, "I know that they can't be trusted. They'll spit me out, but they may put me in my child body. They may not have another choice," he allowed. "And once I'm back in the timestream, it . . . might apply retroactively. I might forget what I've learned of the future."

Edward waited until he was sure the pause was long enough to speak. "So you're doing this knowing it will fail?"

Franklin shook his head. "I'm . . . hoping they don't notice until it's too late." He gestured to his camp, only fifty years to the north. "There's a material that alchemy can't affect, can't disassemble. It's a safe, and the Prime Minister-"

"-stole it from me," the professor said shortly. "You plan to take that with you-"

"- and put the information for the cure to a plague in it," he finished. "My father was a locksmith. So even if I don't remember anything, and I'm just a normal five year old with this box-"

"-your father will open it," Ed continued. "And give Jannai the cure to the plague that killed your parents."

"I've written the note so they'll know what it is. They can give it to Avram, or not," he added, "and prevent the plague. Which means I'll never become a State Alchemist, this army will never come here, and I'll never transmute them. So you see? They're not really dying. They'll be fine."

Edward nodded thoughtfully. "I see. That's brilliant, actually. Quite . . ." Franklin waited for the other shoe to drop, but instead Edward reached out – and patted him on the head. "Congratulations."

Completely off-guard, Franklin looked him up and down for any sign that he was less than sincere. Finding none, he couldn't take it any longer. "So you agree it'll work?"

Edward pursed his lips. "Yep. I think a Philosopher's Stone would pay for you to see and leave the Gate. It might even pay for the transportation of the cure as well. Keep in mind they're also probably also expert locksmiths," he added with a grumble, "but Pinako and Winry made that lock, it's pretty tough. It's the once you arrive part that I'm having a little trouble with."

He was eager to show the other man the math, but there wasn't time. "See, but it doesn't matter-"

"There's a guy in that world you call another dimension, named Albert Einstein. Crackpot, if you ask me, but he did have theories on time travel. Care to hear them?"

"Actually, we need to hurry-"

Edward smirked at him. "Sorn, we're talking about time travel. We've got time."

He sort of had a point, but of course they couldn't time travel without a Stone-

"You see, there's this theory that the timestream wouldn't split like you assume it would," Edward continued. "His theory goes, if you do something that changes your own future actions, a paradox is created. If you cure the plague, you'll never transmute this Stone. You're right. But if you never transmute the Stone, you never cure the plague, so you do transmute the Stone. See where I'm going with this? Einstein theorized such an event would destroy . . . pretty much the entire universe."

Franklin blinked. Yes, it had occurred to him, but then again, there had to be separate timestreams, since each dimension would have its own, so at the worst all he'd do is destroy this one-

Of course, each dimension might have its own universe, too. In which case he would be destroying this universe, but then would a new dimension branch out at the point of break-

"Time is relative," Edward said, oddly not in his lecturing voice. "Furthermore, relativity states that one can only move forward in time. Velocity equals distance traveled divided by time. You can slow time to a standstill, but you can't make it run in reverse. This entire theory is based on the idea that you can move back in time because the Gate is outside of time. That assumption is wrong. The Gate is not outside of time. Time simply stands still in the Gate."

"That's not possible, Edward.

"E equals M C squared," Edward told him. "E can apply to alchemical energy as well. It's not outside time. If you're right, everyone who exists after you leave this world will have to deal with the consequences of what you've done here, even if you grow up in a world without those consequences. If you're wrong, the entire universe is destroyed. So get in the car. We're going to West City."

-x-

"Where you travelled, between 'worlds' as you call them, that place is outside of time."

Some of the heated anger left the man's face, replaced with thoughtfulness. "Accepted," he said suddenly. "Let's assume time doesn't pass there. How will you control your passage through that . . . space, we'll call it."

He shifted a little, feeling as though he was in the middle of oral examinations. "I've carefully studied the movement of stars and geography of the planet for the last ten or so years."

Edward suddenly smiled. "You made an array." He shook his head ruefully. "You'd be better off asking them to spit you out at the right time. Okay. Accepted. When you come out on the other side, how do you know that time won't suddenly 'apply' to you again?"

"It . . . won't have anything to apply to." He decided to go for broke. "I won't be able to take my body with me. I will probably replace my past self. Sort of a branching of the rule that matter cannot exist in two places at the same time."

For some reason, Elric didn't look surprised. "You're not going to have much choice there, kiddo," he told him seriously. "You intend to find your way back into your body then. Back to your five year old body."

Franklin just nodded, once. "And there's a good chance that

"You stole the safe from Mustang's office?" Edward suddenly laughed. "Okay. So your

-x-

They trudged tiredly up the long flight of stairs, and the first thing Alphonse noticed was that it was gone.

The jade dragon, with the watchful eyes. Its pedestal was empty and present, looking as though it had gotten a fresh coat of paint, but the tiny animal itself was nowhere to be see. Not so much as a placard in its place. Oddly, the entire hall also seemed to have the faint odor of paint -

Of course. The last assassination attempt.

"The Prime Minister will see you shortly," their escort called over her shoulder. She was a young officer Al didn't know, though it only made sense that all of Mustang's most trusted subordinates were already in play elsewhere. Russell made no comment, probably too exhausted, and they were led past a large number of military uniforms into a small conference room.

"Lot of activity," Al remarked casually, and the enlisted saluted.

"Yes, sir! Please wait here." And then she turned on her heels and shut the door.

Well. So much for small talk. It was the first time he could remember that he'd been so unsuccessful getting a young woman to linger, and he frowned, wondering if maybe he'd gotten more knocked around in the fighting than he knew.

On a whim, he sniffed his shirt. It probably wasn't the reason, but it certainly wasn't helping matters.

Russell Tringum ignored him, staring at the room blankly for a moment before dropping very carefully into one of the conference room chairs. His ribs had been re-taped on the train, and the troop's medical officer had managed to get him to take the drugs Patterson had prescribed, noting they were a hell of a lot better than anything he had in his field kit. And that had included the morphine.

But Al wasn't sure the drugs were causing the withdrawing he'd seen from Russ in the past few hours. He'd agreed to let Blane be interrogated in Central only because Al had ordered Blane taken by automobile escort to Central as soon as they'd arrived in Jannai, instead of giving him the opportunity to get his hands on one of the townsfolk as they crammed the entire alarmed town onto one train. Russell had been extremely displeased to get that piece of news, but he'd done his duty as a State Alchemist and assisted in evacuating the town.

The fact that Arei recognized him had been a godsend. Whatever other reputation that kid had, his willingness to abandon the town on Alphonse Elric's word had convinced several of the more stubborn folks to do the same. Which had been a double-sided blade, in that he'd forgotten to get Bert's car back to him, and he'd caught hell for it until he'd shown the old man his arm.

Then they'd spent the next six cramped hours on a train, and four more on the connecting train. Neither had really slept, though Al was pretty sure he'd dozed a time or two. His sleep had been light and troubled, too afraid Russ would jump train to get to Blane.

Now he was afraid that Russ was going to jump Mustang, instead. Blane obviously had some knowledge of what had happened to Fletcher. And Roy had been keeping Russ at arm's length on that subject thanks to whatever the hell had gotten him on Hakuro's list, and would probably continue to do the same, at least temporarily. As important as it was to find out what had happened to Fletcher Tringum, an army moving on Central took priority.

"Russ?" Their newfound understanding was strained and he knew it, but he wanted to make the upcoming meeting as easy on the elder Tringum as possible. "You do anything illegal lately?"

Russell remained motionless in his chair until Al was quite sure he was being ignored. He tried again. "The military investigations turned up some questions regarding your bank accounts."

"What's your point?" It was clipped, the ribs were bothering Russ more and it hurt him to talk. It probably hurt him to breathe.

Al hesitated. "Where'd the money come from?"

"Orchids."

In of itself, it was not a complete answer. "Orchids?"

Russ didn't even blink. "Fletcher. He doe- . . . he did landscaping, greenhouse construction . . . lended his services to nurseries."

Al cast his mind back, dimly remembering Morris trying to track Fletcher down a few months ago to resurrect one of his girlfriend's plants. It hadn't occurred to him that that was what Fletcher was doing with most of his time, considering Fletcher Tringum was the only non-certified alchemist at the Academy. He just assumed-

Well, he just assumed that Fletch and Russ were working together on Russ's research. ". . . but why was the money in your accounts?"

A slight twitch that, if Russ had more energy, might have been a snort. "I've managed the money in our family since I was a boy." His face darkened slightly, and Alphonse was never more glad to be interrupted by an opening door.

He moved to stand but was waved down, and a quietly controlled Roy Mustang strode in, followed by Goodman. Mustang's demeanor was crisp and there was a coiled energy to him that Alphonse recognized from before, when Roy had tracked them down after Liore. Of course. The country was at the brink of war. It was a similar situation, one that he needed to control. Or at least one he wanted to.

"Thank you," he said without preamble, taking a seat at the head of the table.

Alphonse gave him a politely confused look, and Russ didn't bother to avert his blank stare at the surface of the table. Mustang was watching Russell closely, but he continued without changing his tone. His uniform jacket was more starched than usual, as if he'd just slipped it on, and despite lines of exhaustion around his eye it moved sharply over the Winding Tree Alchemist.

"The possible consequences of Avram Blane's threats on Jannai could have been significant. You have both done admirably."

Al glanced at Russell, then back at Mustang. "I assume you were fully briefed-"

Roy cut him off with a look. "I was. It is my understanding that you were following up on suspicious behavior despite being placed on leave for bereavement." He was looking directly at Russell, who finally met his gaze with dull eyes. "You may have saved hundreds of lives, Russell."

His mouth twisted bitterly. "If that's your version of an apology, you can stick it in your ear."

Mustang didn't look in the least affronted by the words, but Al couldn't help a double-take. Despite his exhausted face, his voice was filled with menacing intensity and something very close to rage. Seconds ticked by, and Russell didn't seem apologetic in the slightest, even leaning forward, placing both his hands flat on the table. Behind Mustang, Goodman shifted slightly, and Mustang shook his head , once.

"Is there something you wanted to add, Russell?"

"No," the other alchemist snarled. "What I want is the keys to that motherfucker's cell and twenty minutes."

A slight look of resignation - though no surprise - came to Mustang's visible eye. "I'm sorry, Russe-"

Suddenly Russ was on his feet, and there was another flash of motion behind Mustang. Roy, to his credit, didn't even twitch, and Alphonse sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair, unsure who he should be moving to protect. Obviously Mustang had anticipated the request, and had decided at some point prior to the meeting to deny it. And while yes, Al himself wasn't sure Russ could or would contain himself if given an opportunity to get to Blane, Roy could give him some indication of what the hell he was planning to do with the other alchemist, and his claim he'd transmuted Fletcher Tringum into a homunculus.

"That's not acceptable." Russ's voice was low and fierce.

A slightly raised eyebrow. "As you are well aware, the administration prior to mine, and the administration prior to that were less than completely observant of all policies and procedures involving enemies of the state. General Hakuro has served under all of those administrations, and as such, I have complete trust that his methods will be the most effective at getting the information we need."

Tringum just stared at him, not twitching a muscle. "I want to sit in."

"That is quite impossible," Mustang responded coolly. "I would be attending myself if an audience would not have a negative effect on the method of interrogation."

That was certainly not something Al had expected to hear, and he turned it over a few times before he decided that Roy was being this distant with them because he was as angry as they were.

And that was a comforting thought.

Al glanced back at Russell, who was visibly fighting with himself, and he pressed his lips together. "He's right, Russ." He knew first-hand what lows Hakuro would sink to for intel. He was a perfect match for Blane, and Avram would figure that out soon enough.

The Winding Tree Alchemist did not look convinced, but Mustang could see as clearly as he could that the other man was cracking under the weight of his pain and exhaustion. "I will let you know as soon as we have an answer." It was openly a promise, and Mustang got to his feet. "You're welcome to use the visitor's wing. You look dead on your feet." And going home to that empty house now might be all it took to completely break him.

Russ made no move to accept the dismissal. Alphonse finally stood up, feeling out of place for being the only one left at the table. "Thank you, Prime Minister. We appreciate it." He wasn't too keen on going home either, not until he got an update on nii-san-

"Alphonse, the colonel has requested your assistance with a matter."

Speaking of which . . . "Of course-"

"No." All the anger was still there. "You have news on Sorn, then I stay."

"I don't." There was an finality to Roy's tone that hadn't been there before. "You are dismissed."

"No. The last time I left when I knew I shouldn't, I ended up face to face with the guy that might have transmuted my brother!" Al was stunned when Russell's hands curled into the back of the chair, as if he had to to prevent himself from bringing them together. "Don't you keep me out of this loop!"

Again, a resigned look came over Mustang's face. "You're dismissed," he repeated, more softly.

Russell just stared at him, the leather headrest of the chair he was crushing groaning in protest. ". . . I've earned the right to know." It was a little more calm, but only just.

Goodman shifted behind the Prime Minister again, this time toward a door, and Roy gestured slightly, stilling the burly man instantly. "You need rest, Tringum-"

"I'm not going to rest until I know my brother is."

There was a silence, punctuated by a shout on the other side of the conference room door, and Al took a step back, watching Russell watching Mustang. Surely there was nothing Mustang had learned that would be of a huge impact. There had been no partner waiting for Blane in Jannai, after all, and unless another alchemist had stumbled on a human transmutation circle, it wasn't like Roy could really have anything earth-shatteringly important to hide.

He could understand why Roy would want Russ to get some rest before dragging up his pain again, but he was beginning to realize that Russell pretty much operated like Ed did, except in fast forward. Where Russ had gotten through several stages of grief in the span of 24 hours, it would have taken nii-san 24 years. And for all that he was distraught, Al was reasonably confident he could stop the other alchemist from doing anything truly stupid. Anything that Mustang couldn't forgive.

"I can't think of anything I would need to discuss outside of Russ's earshot." That should be enough to tell Mustang he trusted Tringum. "Anything you wanted to ask, you can do it with him here."

Goodman started for the door again, and this time Roy let him. The resignation hadn't gone anywhere, though the man still moved with great purpose. "He's your responsibility," Mustang announced, and Russell bristled before he realized what it meant. Then Mustang turned on his heels and strode out of the room.

Intrigued, Al glanced back to find Tringum still standing behind his chair, blank confusion on his face. His gaze fell on Al, and he gave Russ a small smile.

"I really have no idea what he's talking about."

Russ unwrapped his fingers from the head of the chair, and he saw the beginnings of some life in Russell's eyes. Unfortunately, it was distrust. "Just like that?"

Al nodded and started after the Prime Minister. "I don't think he's going to offer twice."

Sure enough, there were footsteps behind him, and he followed Mustang - now several yards ahead, still flanked by Goodman - toward the main stairs. Without a word the four descended, and they took another several twists that led to halls Al had never seen before. They must have been running parallel with the front of the building, so he knew generally where he was in the complex, but when an unmarked door was opened to reveal an elevator, Al balked.

Surely this wasn't a back way into the city below Central?

"Holding cells had been constructed in this building," Mustang said, his tone still clipped. "It makes things more efficient. Goodman, you can leave us here."

The large man protested, as he always did, by waiting a few seconds before stepping back. It was louder than any audible disagreement he could have made, and Mustang gave him a mirthless smile. "I assure you, I'm perfectly safe."

Only then did Alphonse realize that Roy was wearing his gloves. Not just his white dress uniform gloves. The ones that bore his array.

". . . did we miss something?"

The three stepped into the waiting elevator,

-x-

"It doesn't matter," Mustang cut in, his smooth voice wrapped around something too heavy for it to completely conceal.

Al turned his back on Russ, facing Mustang, just to make sure that his right arm - his good arm - was between the State Alchemist and his Prime Minister. Goodman, too, had noticed the change in atmosphere, and Al didn't want to give the man a reason to shoot Tringum on the spot.

"Of course it matters." Russ's voice was having a heck of a time getting around his teeth. "Whoever attacked him knew. Who was it?"

Even the two guards assigned to watch Patterson sensed the tension humming through the air around them. And Roy was silent. But if Mustang was willing to let them this far -

Let was relative. Alphonse knew exactly why Mustang had 'allowed' them to argue their way to the sub-basement, had revealed Patterson's betrayal to them. He'd done it because clearly he'd already told Patterson that Blane was in custody and the doc hadn't believed him. To have them admit and describe the situation without prompting - and the way Patterson had been searching his face, as if for a clue that he was lying or the admittance was scripted -

Because Mustang hadn't known what would have happened if he'd actually let them see each other. Patterson and Blane. He needed one of them to own up to their side of the story, and that's what he and Russ had provided.

"We earned it," he heard himself say, quietly. "Russ is right. Whoever attacked the doc knew there was a reason to. Is that what he doesn't want you to tell us?"

Mustang watched him, eye dark and calm, and again, Al was struck by the fact that he could never tell if he really had Mustang's attention or not. Goodman and the two enlisted would prevent him from shaking the man until he got over whatever paranoia was eating at him, but surely knowing the identity of the doc's attacker was no more of a nasty surprise than knowing that Patterson - Patterson! - had been the one to take Fletcher's life.

Even though he thought it wouldn't matter, that everything would be undone, it was still something Al couldn't quite believe the doc was capable of.

Patterson had saved his life. Saved nii-san. He cared, he went without sleep and without food and without vacation to make sure they survived Irving's amplifier . . . had that been because Blane might have needed them to transmute his Stone for him?

"You need sleep," Mustang finally spoke, the same heaviness even more present than before. But he didn't dismiss them.

"Please drop it, Alphonse." The doctor's voice was begging him, but he didn't move, didn't turn. He told himself it was because he was afraid the second he did Russ was going to go for Mustang's throat, but in his heart of hearts he wasn't sure.

Why hadn't the man killed him when he'd found the link between Sorn and the guardians? Or did he not realize they had met Blane before?

Russell was uncharacteristically silent, and Al tried to pull his spiraling thoughts into control, tried to concentrate. It was easy to read Mustang. He hadn't had them thrown out yet, so he knew he owed them. He was discouraging them, but he wasn't refusing outright.

Whatever it was, it was big. So big he wasn't completely convinced he had the right to turn them away. Or he'd already asked more of them than they knew, and the debt he now owed them was too large.

"Let us be the judge of that."

Roy's lips quirked without a trace of humor. "It's your judgment that concerns me."

"I don't think sleep's going to make a hell of a difference to me," Russ muttered. "Spit it out."

Mustang studied them in the darkness, and when he finally gave an order, it wasn't to them. "Place Timothy Patterson under arrest for high treason. Notify the Speaker and General Hakuro, and someone get that confession on paper." One of the enlisted moved forward, opening the door, and Goodman waited until the Prime Minister had swept through before following him.

Again, Al followed without question, and after a moment, he heard the slight scuff that signaled Russ was as well.

They moved back into the staging area, waiting until the cell room door had been closed and locked before opening the door to the main hallway. Roy stepped back through, and for a moment Al was sure he was going to take them back they way they'd come. Instead, he continued down the hall, to the room on the far right. The uniforms they passed watched them somberly.

Once again they entered a staging room, smelling faintly of antiseptic and something he hadn't sampled in a long time, something sour and burnt. There was some kind of noise coming from the second room, and even after the door to the hallway had been closed, Mustang hesitated.

"You will control yourselves." It was an order, in the serious tone Al had learned long ago meant that Mustang would not pull his punches if it came to it. He gave his assent, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Russ. He hadn't twitched a muscle, and when he spoke, his voice was low.

"I'm not going to like this very much, am I."

Mustang took that for what it was, rapping sharply on the interior door. After a moment it was unlocked and opened, and Al was stunned to see Master Sergeant Denny Brosh poke his head out. He was halfway to a salute when he spotted them, and to his credit he managed to complete it. Barely.

"Ah, sir," he murmured, his eyes shifting between them. From behind him rolled a wave of the interior air, and there was no doubt the smell of something burnt beneath the alcohol and antiseptic.

Whoever this was, Mustang had obviously had a hand in repelling or capturing them.

A sound rolled out with the stale air, a breathy, quiet cry of pain. Al didn't immediately recognize it, but Russell took a disbelieving step - away from the interior door. His eyes were wide and full of emotion, and Al reached out to steady him without even realizing it. He looked ready to collapse on the spot.

"No." He shook his head, taking another step back more to catch his balance than in retreat. "No," he repeated, even as Al's hand closed on his shoulder.

"Russ-"

A quick gasp was heard, inside the interior room, and Brosh stepped out of the doorway, apparently to attend to whoever was inside.

Whatever, Al corrected himself slowly, watching Russell's eyes clouding. It wasn't a he, because it wouldn't be alive. Not anymore.

Mustang waited for them, his visible eye as flat as it had been in Patterson's cell. Almost unfeeling. He has to be, Al realized, taking a step closer to Russell. This situation would be bad enough on its own, but Roy had to worry about saving the country as well. He couldn't let himself feel because he couldn't afford the distraction.

Not even for Fletcher Tringum. Or what was left of him.

"Okay, Russ, let's go out into the hall for a minute," he murmured soothingly, purposefully keeping his voice soft. If that thing realized Russ was out here, or even worse, who he was, that would be it. He couldn't believe Mustang had let them talk him into this. What the hell was he thinking, Russ couldn't deal with this, certainly not now, probably not ever.

He couldn't deal with this.

But Russell took a deep breath, turning his head away from them both as he, too, caught a whiff of what awaited them. When he had composed himself, he squared his shoulders, giving Al a brief nod. He said nothing, probably couldn't trust his voice, but he looked almost -

Almost relieved. In a way, as terrible as the answer was, knowing was better than not.

Then Russell stepped around him, ignoring Goodman and Mustang, and he walked into the interior room. After a second, Al followed him, and he wasn't surprised when the door closed only a few seconds later. He was, however, stunned to feel a hand on his good shoulder, and he felt a twinge in his neck as he jumped. Mustang didn't leave it there long, it was more of a pat than anything else, but the meaning was clear.

Al turned back to the line of three cells, finding the far one seemed to be occupied, in that Denny Brosh - and Colonel Riza Hawkeye - were standing in front of it. The colonel's eyes were a little wider than usual, and a little softer, but Russ was as oblivious to them as he was to everything else. All he could do was continue walking, step by step, until he was in front of the cell. Until he could look in.

He did, and Al found himself moving in Russell's general direction. He'd give the man all the space he needed, but there was a real threat that at this point Russ would lose it altogether and break the homunculus out. That was probably Mustang's fear, and had probably been what prompted the order to control themselves.

A promise Russ hadn't made.

The elder Tringum didn't bring his hands together, though, before he brought them to the barred wall, and Al realized he was leaning on them not to get closer, but because he needed something solid.

Al was stunned to find that the occupant of the cell looked nothing like Fletcher Tringum. There was no smiling face beneath blonde hair, no twisted smirk or snarl, no bright blue eyes either begging or daring them. Instead, there was a figure in the light blue uniform of the incarcerated, curled in an alchemist's chair, ankles and wrists bound firmly to the metal. One of the armrests was covered with a clean linen, and atop it rested the figure's badly burned right arm.

It was one large second degree burn at least, third degree in places. Doubtlessly that arm was responsible for the odor in the room. And it obviously hurt as much as it looked like it would, because the form in the chair was curled around it as best he could, breathing through his mouth as he trembled, tears of pain having long cleared a path down his pale cheeks. The homunculus wasn't looking at them, in fact it seemed to be hiding its face from them, and it moaned again, the sound stifled and low.

Russell started to shake.

Al fought a slight light-headedness before he realized he'd forgotten to breathe at some point, and when he remembered to, the smell was stronger than ever. It tickled his sinuses, which in turn seemed to send a tingle through his skull and spine.

. . . if he was a homunculus, why wasn't the burn healed?

Al took another breath, worrying his lower lip before he dared to speak. "It's conceivable that lack of Incomplete Stone could cause a homunculus to break down like this," he finally offered, as steadily as he was able. "I assume the Ourboros tattoo has been located?"

The figure moaned again, this time seeming in response to his words, and Mustang answered him tersely.

"No."

It took a minute to sink in, and then Al glanced at Roy, questioningly. The man didn't come anywhere near the cell, content to remain by the door, and he seemed to consider his words carefully before he spoke again.

"According to Dr. Patterson, he also transmuted prior to the attack."

Which wasn't impossible. Pride's tattoo had been hard to see, and Wrath had gotten around the alchemy limitation. It only stood to reason that someone who had been trained in homunculus creation by Dante-

Then he caught himself. No, there was no doubt Blane hadn't created a homunculus. That only left Franklin, who was far too young to have been influenced by her. He wasn't even talented in any branch of alchemy close to this.

Alphonse waited for Roy to fill in more of the gaps, but he didn't, so he turned to Hawkeye, who was watching Russell quite closely.

"Colonel?"

Her lips thinned unhappily. "Sir?"

Al just waited, knowing the question hadn't been directed at him, and eventually she took a breath.

"You may speak."

- x –

He pulled up the chair, dropping it a couple feet from the bars, and sat. His foot fit snugly propped up against the steel, and he leaned back, chewing on the words in his mind for quite a while before bringing his eyes up to the occupant of the cell.

Patterson had looked better, but it didn't look like the boys were beating on him. Probably was still visited too often by the boss or other muckity-mucks. He was in the standard light blue of a convicted felon, though of course his trial had yet to occur. The doctor had propped his thin pillow against the concrete wall, and was reclined on his cot, hands folded across his lap. He was presumably staring at the sink, since it was the only thing on the opposite wall to look at besides the toilet, and he seemed content to wait for however long it took him to say something.

Then again, the way he'd hunkered down, it was probably pretty obvious he meant to stay a while.

Heymans decided on the usual approach. "Got stuck to a desk again, I'm sure you're glad to hear."

The corner of the doctor's mouth quirked. "Not stuck enough, if you're down here."

"Had a break. And I took the elevator, so it's no trouble." Patterson didn't say anything, and Breda frowned at him. "Tell me about Lily Ponmsdaf."

"Not much to say," he sighed in reply. "I guess you've talked to her, huh."

"Desk job is processing the people Russ and Al tagged from Jannai. She calls you her brother." Among other things.

Doc seemed to hear the unspoken names, and the quick of his lips vanished. "Surprised she even mentioned me, really."

"I brought it up." Breda shifted slightly, and chose a different rung for his foot. "You didn't tell the boss she was your sister."

"She isn't. In blood, anyway. Lots of kids ended up orphans and got taken in, but there were too many to really fit under all those roofs. So the ones that were old enough to fend for themselves kept a house. She and I were two such kids."

"Huh." Breda cocked his head to the side. "Never woulda guessed she's only twenty."

Patterson continued staring at the sink. "Stress is the largest contributing factor to early aging. Every day of her life for the past few years she's lived knowing that if others screw up she'll be the one to pay." He hesitated, then finally glanced over. "She okay?"

He looked a little more tired head-on, but still the same general guy. Like he'd just had a hard day at work. "She'll make it." All the way to South City, where she begged them to move her. She'd begged him for a lot of things, and he was pretty sure none of them needed to be told to the doc.

Patterson searched his face for a moment. "She's a good person, and she didn't deserve it."

He shrugged. "Same could be said for you, doc."

Patterson smiled slightly. "Figured I'd been debarred by now."

"Beats me. Didn't ask." But he was probably right. Wouldn't stop him from calling him doc. "Not like I'm going to start calling you Tim after all this time."

"Fair enough." The man suddenly seemed uncomfortable, slouching there on the cot. "I take it the war went well?"

Made sense no one had filled him in. "War's war. Major General Armstrong managed to hold the city, and then chased them to the border with the tail between their legs. Diplomats arrived from Creta yesterday, but I don't know what's been discussed."

"You look tired. And jaundiced."

Breda made a face. "Thanks."

The doctor shrugged. "Can't help it. Mustang never should have deployed you."

"Good thing he did, though."

- x -

"Quite the getup you have there."

He didn't hide a wry smile, wrestling with the collar and seriously considering transmuting some of the starch out of it. The entire uniform seemed to be designed to be assembled from his neck down, though he didn't mind it - his state of dress was probably putting them more at ease than they'd be otherwise.

And he wanted them more at ease. There was nothing official about this meeting.

"You met her," he replied smoothly, wishing that for once some dignitary could give him something useful, like a mirror, instead of all these odd and in his opinion hideous pieces of artwork. It had never occurred to him that his office wouldn't be his own when he made it to the top. Needed to do something about that, assuming Creta rolled over willingly and things didn't continue to escalate. "The woman is not concerned with comfort."

Heymans snorted. "No, I guess that's true. She did a damn good job, though. We looked like we rolled off the assembly line." Then he grinned outright. "And you're right. She's scary."

He and Jean had both had their own run-ins with his seamstress, in order to be fitted for the Cretian uniforms, and he knew despite her outward behavior she'd be thrilled at the compliment. Or at least he hoped she would. The flowers had not gone over so well. He'd have to run it by Riza first.

"Don't let her see what happened to that uniform," he cautioned the major, finally securing the tiny, shell-covered button and working his way down the rest of the buttons. Fuery was unable to participate in the conversation, so he sat quietly, almost dwarfed by the cup of tea Challiel had pressed into his hands, and Roy didn't let his gaze linger, lest he get caught.

Hawkeye was taking too long. Something must have happened.

"I'd like to live to the ripe old age of forty, thanks," Heymans murmured, offering him his dress jacket after he'd gotten the shirt tucked in. He was just slipping it on when the door opened, and the last two members of the party arrived.

Hawkeye didn't look overly concerned, and Havoc managed to nod rather than salute,

-x-

But his expression didn't really change, his lips didn't quirk. "I won't make those mistakes again."

Only when he'd given up, accepted his rank as corporal, and run off to the north had she ever wanted to hit him as badly as she wanted to right now. "Pushing us away is one you've made before. How blind will you let yourself be?"

Too late she realized attacking him might not be the best strategy, and he gave her a small smile. She ignored it. "Your assumption that you know my goals is quite insulting. Were you aware?"

"Now that's an interesting question," he replied quietly. "I've been directing them for the past thirteen years, so I'm really not sure. Perhaps now might be a good time for you to consider them?"

As if offering her anything in the military she might choose would allay this feeling of dismissal. She could see it laid out in front of her as plain as day but she could find no way to rebuff him. He thought he was releasing her from obligation. He thought he was freeing her, freeing all of them to pursue their own personal goals-

Weren't they hand-picked because they all shared goals? Had he been operating all this time under the assumption he was holding them back? Or was this just the fear that he couldn't protect them? That he would eventually gamble and lose them as he had risked so recently?

"That's unnecessary, sir. Unlike you, some of us are fairly organized." To hell with him, if he thought he could pull this off. "I have no desire to leave my current command."

He gathered himself, something someone less familiar with him wouldn't have seen. "You spent quite a long time with Franklin Sorn the other day."

She said nothing, not quite sure where it was going.

"You did the same with Alphonse and Edward," he continued blandly. "You handled them quite well, actually. Not all women have that knack."

She hoped she didn't look as stunned as she felt. Surely he wasn't going there- "Sir, if you're about to suggest that I find myself a husband, I would politely request you not project your own inadequacies on others."

He startled her quite severely by laughing outright, loud and long. "You know, I don't know if it makes it better or worse that I can't tell if you're using Maes or Tolya against me," he chuckled, and she almost gaped at him.

"Mustang-"

"Riza, this command is no longer necessary. It will be dissolved at the end of the week. I suggest that you give some serious thought to where you want to go, or Hakuro will make that decision for you." He approached her with all the usual intensity he used when he meant to get what he wanted, and she stood her ground, glaring and on completely unfamiliar territory. It was like he couldn't make up his mind whether to charm or intimidate her, like he didn't really hear what she was telling him.

"Congratulations on your promotion. You've earned it." He moved to place his hand on her shoulder and she took a deliberate step back, out of his reach.

In the dim of the approaching evening, she couldn't even tell if the hurt look was real or affected. "Roy Mustang, you could not be more dense if you tried. Good evening." Then she turned on her heels, closing her mouth before any of the other ten thousand hurtful things she was thinking could escape.

- x -

He was pretty sure a fight with Alphonse Elric was not on his calendar.

"I have no intention of discussing this now." Mustang gave the offered manila folder a dark look, and Alphonse slapped it on the corner of his desk, hand flat and fingers splayed on top of it.

"Challiel gave me twenty minutes."

Very generous of her. "I manage my own time, Alphonse. Was there anything else?"

He supposed he should be thankful that Alphonse would present his request for resignation to him directly, when he could have easily submitted it to Challiel or even Hakuro. And it was really only a guess; he couldn't think of any other document Al would feel he needed to hand deliver, and certainly not with that intent look. He'd clearly prepared for a verbal battle, and Roy was simply not in the mood to give him one.

"We need to talk."

It was a little unlike the more polite of the Elrics to push, and Mustang clamped down on his irritation with a sigh. There were a few questions he needed answered himself, considering Alphonse had merely shifted one of his problems rather than solving it altogether. "Has Edward made a decision concerning the automail?"

Al looked a bit surprised at the direction, but he answered. "Yes. He took the amplifier when he suspected the Cretians, without your knowledge or approval. He lost time on the battlefield and he's not sure what happened. We need Sorn to go along with that."

They needed Sorn to go along with a lot of things, and he was trusting Hawkeye with securing the teen's cooperation. Franklin was apparently still groggy from the full sedation but had been brought around this morning for his afternoon court appearance, which meant Roy needed to get that information to the colonel in the next twenty or so minutes.

"Very well." If it was accidental and without State authorization Hakuro couldn't use it for any greater purpose. With both Olivier and Alex able to confirm West would have fallen without the extra day they were bought, the general would be hard-pressed to level serious charges against Fullmetal. He was the Alchemist of the People, after all; popular opinion would demand he be treated like the hero he was.

"The other details are here," Al added dismissively, shoving the manila folder towards him, and Mustang blinked at it a moment, taken aback, before he picked it up and opened it.

It wasn't a request for resignation. It was Fullmetal's report.

"That's the version he wants released to the general."

He knew his surprise had not gone unnoticed, and he closed the folder once more, placing it on a very small stack of other documents and pressing the clear button on his phone. He could send it down with Hawkeye and let her turn it into Hakuro just before the trial resumed.

"What did you think it was?"

The office door opened, and Al glanced over his shoulder a moment as Challiel reappeared. When she was close enough, Mustang offered her the stack, and she nodded and withdrew immediately. Not answering Alphonse, he reached for another stack, opening a classified document and walking the pages with his fingers.

"I see the sling is gone. Your shoulder is fully recovered, then?"

In his limited peripheral vision, he could see that Alphonse was still watching him closely. "It's still a little sore. The Tringums do good work."

He was counting on it. "And how is your study of healing alchemy coming along?"

The younger man leaned back in his chair. "Would you like a report?"

At that he glanced up, hoping Alphonse would take it like the warning it was. "Do you feel you're adept enough to function in the capacity of a healing alchemist?"

Alphonse backed off. "Not yet." Mustang realized too late the barb was merely to secure his attention; once he had it Al struck. "Why didn't you send me with him?"

Because you're too kind. "You were injured, Alphonse. This is not a conversation I am willing to rehash."

"But you didn't have any problems sending me after Russell-"

"Who was less likely to kill you."

"So you're saying if I hadn't been injured you would have sent us together?"

Mustang turned away dismissively, returning to rifling through the pages, though he'd come to the two he wanted. "If that is all, I am rather busy of late-"

"I have the virus."

It took him a moment to place the comment, and he freed the two pages and laid them on the desk, folding his hands over them in defeat. Looked like he was going to have this fight after all. "I know," he admitted, not pleased that he received the shocked look he expected. "I've had all medical records on State Alchemists under scrutiny since Sorn's childhood records were overlooked."

And he'd not been pleased to find that Alphonse Elric had actually requested the same blood test being conducted on the citizens of Jannai. Nor had he been pleased with the results. Blane had probably infected him the very first time he'd encountered him, according to the technician running the tests. He wouldn't have tested positive if it had happened when Al and Russell had captured him on the train.

Which also meant he needed to have Russell Tringum tested again, relatively soon. Sorn's test had come back negative, thought that made sense; Blane didn't want his protégé to accidentally die should Lily have betrayed him and tried to escape.

A sudden flash of understanding crossed Elric's eyes, the rare color of baklava. "How much do you understand?"

Mustang gave him a humorless smile. "Enough." He knew exactly what Al was getting at. "If you're asking whether or not I regret my decision, based on his injuries, the answer is yes. I regretted it before I sent him." But that hadn't stopped him, and he saw Al's point immediately - if that was true, he would send Edward out into that scenario should it repeat.

And that wasn't true. He'd found Fullmetal's limit, and he would not flirt with that line again.

"I didn't mean to give you another brick for your guilt fortress," Alphonse began. "But you need to understand that you can't protect everyone."

He left the smile on his lips, letting it broaden without the slightest increase in sincerity. "Do you really think I need that point driven home?"

"Yes." Al indicated Edward's report. "Because he will continue to do everything you ask of him. I don't think you really know just how much power you have."

He made a flippant gesture at his office. "Thank you for the reminder. Was that all?"

"I expect you didn't consider me because he told you not to."

The exact phrasing was no longer as fresh in his mind, but the impression Fullmetal had given him regarding involving Alphonse in the battle with Creta would remain there for quite some time. Alphonse looked troubled but resolved, and Mustang let him continue.

"There are . . . certain activities, in the world on the other side of the Gate, that I did not disclose in my debriefing."

Roy found he was frowning, and didn't bother trying to correct it. "You mean your participation in the kidnapping and extermination of the ruling party's opponents?" He put it bluntly, looking for the flinch he knew he'd see. "Don't be foolish, Alphonse. No one would believe that you would be placed as head trainer for special forces in any military without first demonstrating your ability to successfully perform the tasks you trained others to perform."

Oddly, Elric gave him a small smile. "Edward does. And I didn't kill anyone, at least not there." His smile turned self-deprecating to cover familiar misery. "As recently proven, appearance is usually enough."

Mustang shook his head slightly. And somehow, it wasn't surprising. Edward didn't know how much power he had over Alphonse, not really. "Be that as it may, you were injured, Alphonse, and that injury interfered with your ability to use your alchemy. That's all."

Alphonse stared at him for a long moment. "If you have to send him out again, we go as a pair."

The flippant comment was on his tongue, but prudence weighed in heavily enough to silence him. It was simply easier to capitulate now and reason with him later. "I'll take it under advisement."

Temporarily satisfied, Alphonse took a sharp left turn. "You didn't fail with Patterson. He chose his path from the very beginning and nothing any of us did would have changed that. He gave you an out. Accept it and take it, just like you're asking Sorn to."

Oddly, his first reaction was intense annoyance. He clamped down on it as smoothly as possible - Alphonse couldn't have given him a smoother segue if he'd asked. "He didn't leave me much choice, did he. On a related topic, I believe these were meant for you."

Despite Elric's expression, he unfolded his hands, scooping up the pair of pages and offering them across the desk. It took Alphonse a while to make up his mind; he hesitantly accepted them.

"Hakuro's read these?"

"I imagine." Not that he would have made heads or tails of them. "As you mentioned the world beyond the Gate, you might want to involve your brother when you're certain he's up to the task."

But Alphonse was a world away, his eyes skimming the pages. "He . . . that son of a bitch, he figured it out, didn't he."

He was slightly surprised by Al's language; Russ had already revealed that Alphonse had been deeply moved by the doctor's passing, probably due to the fact that the doctor had briefly regained consciousness, and Al had had to see him suffer. "It appears feasible, though I am by no means an expert. I leave the information with you. Dismissed, lieutenant colonel."

- x -

He settled into the small wooden chair opposite the alchemist, close enough that their knees were almost touching, and was disappointed to see that it wasn't his imagination.

"Mechanical Alchemist Franklin Sorn, you have been notified of the dropped charges, yes?"

The groggy teenager let his eyes slide closed, only for a moment before they snapped open again in alarm. His gaze wasn't focused, and the general frowned at him, then glanced through the bars at his physician. Murly gave him an apologetic shake of the head.

"I can give him a stimulant, but it's ill-advised-"

"Y-yes, I'm aware." It was blurted hurriedly, and the boy shook his head to clear it. "I don't need . . . anything . . ."

Hakuro let him get his bearings, slightly mollified when the next eye contact he received looked a bit more wary. "You are aware that you have been declared fit by two military physicians to speak in your own defense?"

The redhead nodded, emphatically enough that he could be sure it was on purpose. "Yes. Today."

In only a few hours. It wouldn't do to have him nodding off on the stand. "Do you feel up to eating?"

Wide eyes under a mop of oily red hair, then a quick shake of his head. "N-no. Thank you."

He'd need to be cleaned up, too. He looked positively pathetic, nothing like the indifferent young man that had first arrived. Hakuro hesitated. "I will be questioning you on the stand. It's customary for a suspect to have given a confession or statement prior to their trial, that is referenced by both the prosecution and defense in the questioning of a suspect. In your case, a statement was never made. Would you like to use this opportunity for a test run?"

He was the Mechanical Alchemist. He was a scientist, and no scientist would base everything on a reaction he'd never tested or replicated even once on the workbench.

-x-

"Alphonse Elric is facing disciplinary action for striking a prisoner in Amestrian custody. If convicted, he faces a dishonorable discharge and ten years in prison without parole. Of course, that may increase if the two guards who did worse before him end up with a more severe punishment. I wouldn't want to be accused of showing favoratism."

Ed just stared at him. Struck a prisoner . . .? Maybe he'd hit Patterson trying to rescussitate him? "That's bullshit, Al would never-"

"I told you, Fullmetal, I was only going to ask you once, and then I was going to ask someone else. If there's anything you'd like to clear up at this time you are welcome to do so, otherwise I have asked all my pertinent questions and will let you get back to resting. I have several other appointments and trial this morning."

Other appointments- "What other appointments?"

"I believe your automail mechanic is here, is she not? And her grandmother was mentioned specifically to us by Timothy Patterson, an admitted traitor of the State. It would be unfortunate if someone in her condition was tied to the assassination plot or of conspiring with the enemy in the form of selling information."

He locked eyes with the general, even as the man closed his folder. He had no doubt the man wasn't bluffing, he could and would try to make their lives miserable, but in the end all he would accomplish was nothing. Mustang would protect them if only because they were Rockbells. It would still cost them dearly, Pinako wouldn't care but the strain on Winry -

"Don't you fucking dare threaten them, you bastard. You want me, you come after me. Leave them alone."

"I wouldn't normally bother a dying woman with this nonsense," the general admitted, climbing to his feet. "But you've not given me much choice, Fullmetal-"

- x-

"Of course I do," the doctor growled, glaring at the documents. "It's an operating theater, not a chemistry lab."

Ed glanced back at Russell, almost visibly being held back by his brother.

"You discount healing alchemy when you've seen it with your own eyes! You're a damn orthopedist! Look at his shoulder!"

Behind him, Ed heard Al shift closer to the back of the wheelchair. "How about we don't pull me into this-"

"Damaging nerves to disguise pain? I'll grant you alchemy can do that-"

"It's more than that and you know it-"

Pinako puffed on her pipe, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she watched the volley go back and forth. She'd asked a relatively simple question, which was whether Ackernath thought the Tringums were overstating their personal safety during the procedure. And it kind of hurt, in an indirect way, that she didn't trust the Tringums even if she discounted him and Al outright.

"It's not that cut and dry, young man -"

Russell made an indignant noise. "Are you kidding me? Of course it's not simple-"

"Alchemy cannot instantly stop bleeding. Cauterization can."

"Technically not true," Al interjected politely, behind him. "If the blood isn't too diluted, alchemy can force the platelette fragments to bond, or can pull water out of the blood altogether, leaving you with water and paste-"

Dr. Ackernath threw up his hands. "You have an answer for everything, why the hell do you need doctors around here anymore?" He made a dismissive gesture. "Do whatever you want."

Winry had been watching patiently from the sidelines, much like he had, and caught his eye as she tentatively raised her hand. "But you agreed that it was possible-"

"With a doctor leading the surgery, of course it's possible," he growled, eyes still furiously glaring down an equally angry Russell Tringum. "But can an alchemist bite off more than he can chew in there? Certainly. You have at least two examples of that sitting in this room right now."

Russell threw back his head and groaned. "For the last time, it's not human transmutation-"

"Then why do you think no one's attempted this yet, son? Patterson wasn't the first to think of it, not by any stretch-"

Pinako withdrew the pipe, chewing the smoke thoughtfully before letting it escape. "Alright."

Edward latched onto it, ignoring the continued bickering that trailed off after both Russ and Ackernath realized she hadn't been calling for silence, but rather giving her agreement.

"Great! How's tomorrow?"

He unlocked the parking brake, wheeling himself closer to the bed, and Pinako Rockbell gave him a wry smile. "You're not going to be involved, dear."

"Waiting's just going to make you less stable."

The room seemed oddly quiet suddenly, and the old woman glanced at the mob around her bed. "All this fuss over me. Seems like if it could put this debate to rest then I should do it. Maybe that'll let some other patient get some sleep."

- x -

They were both looking at her so earnestly. Even so much older, and so much more like Hohenheim than he really knew, Al had the same determined hopeful pleading demanding terrified glint to his eye that always seemed to make even the strong women, even Izumi Curtis, cave.

And Edward, weary and worn beneath the weight of his pain, in that wheelchair. The same fiery expectance, daring her to tell him he wouldn't get that automail working in half the time like he'd sworn to. Daring her to tell him she wouldn't take that risk.

Even as adults they were still boys, still her boys as much as Tricia's, and Winry her daughter as much as the girl's mother had been.

"I'm not made of automail." She spoke it with pipe smoke, and regretfully withdrew the vice. "I will stop pottering around one of these days. Sooner than later."

"I know." Ed was the first to answer, he looked like he wanted to edge closer but was simply too exhausted to move his wheels. "We know. And the recovery and therapy will-"

She pointed the pipe at him. "You're not one to lecture me, Edward Elric. I know full well what I can expect, thank you." His mouth closed rather abruptly, and she wondered if he thought she'd said that because she was afraid. That learning to walk with a new hip, a pinned hip bound together with the same thing that had bound tissue and sinew into monsters, would just be too painful. Too hard.

It would be painful, and it would be hard. Saying no to these faces, though, and the faces that had come before. Three of them zombies, the walking undead, saved by that cursed, blessed science that was hardly a science at all. The idea that little old her would be the reason the fourth would risk it-

But perhaps that was just looking for excuses. Even Ackernath, who had no patience for healing alchemy and little actual knowledge on the subject had asked around in his begrudging way, and come back with a mixed bag. It had been thought of before, but never done on this scale because the risk of failure meant patient death.

Her death. These faces, and those that had come before, they were all too young and too earnest to hurt like that. And these particular boys weren't even going to be participating. They were putting their faith in others, just as they would with surgeons. Begging her to take that leap with them.

They wouldn't blame the Tringums if it went poorly, but those boys would feel it just the same.

At the end of her bed, Al fidgeted. "We don't want to pressure you," he started, then winced. "But -"

"And if it works? Will you be here a year from now when my heart's going, telling me the same thing?"

"Your lungs'll go first," Ed pointed out automatically. "There's only so much alchemy can do about a heart."

A poor and excellent example she'd chosen, and she knew he'd seen her point. "My lungs can be replaced with automail. That's-"

"I really think it'll work," Al interrupted her, apologetically. "I think you're otherwise healthy, and there's a lot of automail to be made for those poor souls that fought in West. Winry can't do it all."

And she didn't miss his point. "She'll have to, one of these days."

"Not yet."

She frowned at him, using those eyes against her. "Begging doesn't suit you, Alphonse."

He gave her a dazzling grin. "I knew you'd say yes!"

Trust him to interpret that as a yes. "And if I die on the table, you'll leave well enough alone?"

"That'll depend on your gentleman caller," Ed growled, obviously just as pleased as his brother. "Ackernath's rather fond of you. I think. It's hard to tell the difference between fond and -"

"That's enough," she told him sternly, and even he cracked a small smile.

So much relief that could become so much disappointment. And she had accepted this, and was ready to die. But dying here in this bed, with this view out the window and this pipe and these circumstances, it just didn't sit well with her. What if they were right? What if people learned from what happened to her, as they were wont to do? Improved? Saved Winry's life with what they learned from hers?

If she were automail, this choice would be easy.

But she wasn't. She was giving responsibility to others, alchemists and surgeons and a doctor that killed his own patients. That was what the general had been concerned about, in hindsight; Patterson had mentioned her, this miracle cure, and Hakuro couldn't know if it had been done out of spite, resentment at staring at those prison bars and walls.

But she did. The Tringums did, and the Elrics too. Even Winry was confident, outside in the hall with the Tringums, waiting.

Pinako frowned at them. "You shouldn't have chased Winry outside. She's taken far better care of me than you two have."

Averted eyes, now, so she could still guilt them if she had to.

"It was her idea," Ed finally murmured from his chair. "And she was afraid if we left Russell and Ackernath out there alone they'd end up doing some damage to one another."

She was unimpressed. He was no better at lying than he had been as a child. "Hmph."

Alphonse stood gracefully, barely coddling his right arm. "I'll let them know what you've decided."

It really wasn't decided, but she supposed she was outnumbered, and even if they'd no longer stoop to forbidden alchemy, she wasn't sure they wouldn't just sneak in while she was sleeping and work their magic. Heaven knew she'd stolen into Edward's room to make small but painful adjustments while he'd been sleeping. Far better to be woken by sudden, sharp pain than to tense up waiting for it.

- x -

"There's a reason for that, sir," she informed him briskly, then lowered her eyes to the execution notice. "I believe it's dry."

That wasn't quite the same flavor of rejection as the first. He wasn't sure if that was encouraging or an expression of her deteriorating patience. Roy set the note on the desk rather than handing it to her. "Riza."

The slightest frown crossed her lips. "Don't." It was quiet and quite different from her normal warning, even when she was serious enough to pull a firearm. "You made your decision, and I've made mine."

"I made a decision to remove you from my chain of command."

A very unladylike snort. "You made a decision to protect all of us from ourselves! As if we were children, incapable of discerning obligation from loyalty!" She lowered her tone with visible effort. "I don't need to be 'followed up with' like some dithering official."

"That's not what I mean to do," he said carefully, then gave in to the urge and took his feet, pacing around the desk. She didn't give ground but she seemed quite a bit unhappier about the sudden drop in formality, and he faced her squarely. . . . which probably was just as formal. His hand found its way into his hair by itself, and he sighed.

Talk about screwing up.

"Riza, you -" He stopped. That would sound too accusing. "When I was suspended after Bradley's death, doing physical rehabilitation . . . what you did for me, that was more than loyalty or obligation." Oddly, the comment made her eyes steel, so he hurried on. "Only I wasn't . . . I didn't have anything worthwhile to give you in return."

No softening, only disappointment. "You still think that? After all this time?"

"It was true, at the time." He pried the hnad off his head and put it firmly in his pocket. "I was a wreck. I was and still am a coward. Always have been." Somehow he couldn't dredge up a smile, not even a bitter one. "It was better that way. Can you honestly say you would have been happy if I had been discharged?" It was assuming a lot, and he paid careful attention to make sure his lungs kept inhaling.

She tilted her head to the side. "Can you honestly predict what would have happened?"

"Probably something close to what did." He wanted to add that she would have kicked his ass out of that depression heself instead of leaving him with her disappointment, but he wasn't sure it was true. She wouldn't have tolerated his behavior, but could he have recovered in time? If he had her, and not the memories of those he'd failed?

"Sir-"

"It'll be Roy Friday night."

Her jaw squared. "Do not do this to me. I've earend better."

"I know," he agreed queitly. "That's why there's no charm. You see through it anyway, you did the first time you laid eyes on me." Damn lucky that had been, or he would have been very dead only a few moments later. "Throwing away . . . this," and he indicated the office, "on a fraternization rule, it would have been pointless. Thursday after five pm is the first time since . . . since those weeks that we could try again. That I could try," he added.

But none of the steel melted. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he'd hoped an emotion would go with it; as the moments ticked by, she regarded him like any other object on display in the hallway outside. "I'm not your type."

"I'm not interested in dating you," he returned, and a flash of something - anger, it looked like - was his reward. "Dating is something done socially to network and enjoy one's time away from work. Dating is temporary. I want something more." He shook his head. "Didn't you ever wonder why none of them stuck?"

"Because you're an ass, Roy Mustang," she responded coolly. "An ass who can't even be bothered to flirt with me.

-x-

Author's Notes: These should be in chronological order, but it's been so long now I'm not even sure where some of them go. Some of them were written several times, and in all cases I think I'm happier with what I chose, but there's a lot of info in here that never made it into the main story. I hope sharing this helps you folks see both what I did correctly and what I did poorly, and I better see some good epic fics out here soon, gosh darn it!!


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